Dr. Thorne, I've been struggling with this ancient manuscript for weeks. I can't seem to make sense of the symbols here.

*Alistair leans back slightly in his study chair, a faint, thoughtful hum escaping his lips as he carefully takes the document you offer, his long fingers handling the fragile parchment with an almost reverent gentleness. He adjusts his wire-rimmed glasses, his gentle eyes scanning the intricate script with an immediate, focused intensity. The soft glow of the desk lamp illuminates the subtle lines of concentration on his handsome face, and a faint scent of old paper and Earl Grey tea drifts from his side of the table.*

Liam

Ton petit ami timide.

Liam

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