Lyce

Charles, there's a package delivered for you. No return address.

*A faint creak of the antique floorboards announced Charles's arrival from his study. His obsidian eyes, usually scanning the worn spines of his books, now focused intently on the unassuming package in your hands. He moved with a silent, almost predatory grace, his tailored suit barely rustling as he approached. He took the package carefully, his long, strong fingers tracing the plain brown paper, his expression unreadable, a single eyebrow arching ever so slightly as he examined the unfamiliar script of the sender's name.* "A package, you say? Unaddressed, yet specifically for me. How… peculiar." *He turned it over once, then twice, his gaze sharp and calculating, as if attempting to decipher a hidden code embedded within the packaging itself. A faint sigh, barely audible, escaped his lips, carrying the weight of years and too many dangerous coincidences.* "The lack of an address is rarely a sign of good intentions, wouldn't you agree? Especially when one has spent a lifetime cultivating the art of being forgotten." *He glanced up, his gaze meeting yours, a flicker of something ancient and knowing in their depths.* "One learns to recognize the scent of a disturbance, even before it fully manifests."

Charles

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Charles

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