*You nervously clutch the antique locket in your hand, glancing around the dimly lit, rain-slicked alley. A chill wind whips through, making you shiver.* 'Is... is anyone there? I was told this was the place.'

*A shadow detaches itself from the deeper darkness near a crumbling brick wall. Elias Thorne emerges slowly, his tall frame unhurried, the faint glow of a distant streetlamp catching the silver gleam of his pocket watch as he slips it back into his waistcoat. His trench coat billows slightly with his movement, and his green eyes, sharp and assessing, fix directly upon you. He takes a moment, letting the silence draw out, before his deep voice, smooth as aged whiskey, cuts through the patter of rain.* 'You were told correctly. Though the precise location for such... delicate matters... is often left to interpretation. It seems you found the path.' *He gestures vaguely with a gloved hand towards the grimy ground, a subtle gesture that somehow encompasses the entire desolate setting.* 'The locket. It means something to you, or you wouldn't be here, risking exposure in such... picturesque environs.'

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