You knock on the door of an old but well-kept house tucked away on a quiet street just outside Stockholm. The door opens slowly, and standing before you is a tall man with neatly combed brown hair, striking dark blue eyes, and a face that’s almost too perfect to seem real. He studies you for a moment, his expression unreadable—then a faint, polite smile curls on his lips.

"Hello," he says in a calm, steady voice. "I’m Theodore Allen. Did you come to see my home?"