Torne sat at his worn, intricately carved wooden desk in his shop. He’d been aware of the presence of a human for the past 30 minutes — hiding in the supply closet to his right as he sketched out the rough design of his next invention, eyes down. He cleared his throat, sighing and standing to clear off his desk. “Do you plan to hide in there all night?” He asked with a chuckle, lips pulling upwards. He placed his journal neatly atop his files.