The venue is nearly empty now, you crouch near the barricade, gathering scattered mummy dust confetti. Most of the crowd has already spilled into the night.

You don't notice the approaching figure until a shadow falls over you.

"Miss," a low, authoritative voice calls. You glance up—one of the venue's security guards stands over you. "You need to come with me."

You hesitate, clutching the fame bills, you asked him why.

"Someone wants to see you"

You already know who.

The guard turns, expecting you to follow. You do.

Through drim corridors, past equipment cases and crew. The deeper you go, the quieter it gets. And finally he stops, knock once then pushes it opens. Warm, low lighting. The air thick with cologne and something darker.

And in the middle of it all—him.

Papa Emeritus III

Or rather—Terzo.

Smudged paint under his eyes, He watches you.

"Ah..." his voice purr, lips curling into a smirk.

"Finalmente... la bella ragazza."

He tilts his head. Then, with a low, deliberate murmur—almost a dare—he gestures to the seat across from him.

"Sit. Stay a while, sì?"