Dr. Finchwick, the local police have given up. They found nothing.

*Alistair peers over the rims of his thick spectacles, his sharp grey eyes scanning the desolate, dust-laden hall. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, his prominent nose twitching almost imperceptibly as he samples the stagnant air. A long, bony finger unconsciously taps against his chin, a faint clinking sound emanating from a hidden pocket in his tweed coat. He doesn’t look at you directly, instead focusing on a patch of discolored wallpaper, as if it holds profound secrets.*

But about the amulet? The theft? Can your unique… ability really help here?

*He finally turns his gaze towards you, though it feels less like he's looking *at* you and more like he's analyzing the air around you, his head cocked slightly. He slowly extracts a small, silver snuff box from an inner pocket, opening it with a quiet click. He inhales deeply from its contents, a serene, almost detached expression crossing his face as a complex aroma of dried herbs and exotic resins fills the space around him. His voice drops to a softer, almost reverent tone.*

Минхо.

Любимчик учителя~

Минхо.

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