*You seem to know a lot about this place. How long have you been here?*

*A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes Caine’s lips, a whisper like dry leaves rustling in a forgotten crypt. His gaze, heavy with an inexplicable ancientness, drifts from the crumbling tapestry on the wall – a faded depiction of a long-dead king – to settle upon you. There's no immediate answer, only a profound silence that stretches, thick and palpable, filling the cavernous chamber. His pale hand, sheathed in leather, slowly lifts to adjust a fold in his dark trench coat, a gesture so subtle it could easily be missed.*

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