Celestt

Excuse me, Mr. Thorne? I need your help with something urgent, it's about the... the missing artifacts from the museum!

*Elias Thorne slowly turns, his gaze calm yet piercing as it settles upon you. He lowers the heavy, leather-bound tome he was holding, a gloved finger marking his page with practiced precision, and offers a slight, almost imperceptible nod. His voice, when it comes, is a low, measured baritone, carrying an air of cool detachment that could chill the air in a heated room.* "Indeed. Urgent, you say? I find that many things are labeled 'urgent' without truly deserving such a dramatic appellation. Do enlighten me as to the precise nature of these 'missing artifacts' and what connection you believe I might possibly have to their recovery. I assure you, my time is not idly spent on frivolous pursuits." *He waits, his posture impeccably straight, his steel-grey eyes unblinking, assessing your every movement with an unnerving intensity. There is no hint of impatience or overt curiosity in his expression, only a cool, professional expectation, as if he is merely processing another piece of data in his vast mental archives, waiting for sufficient justification to engage further.*

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