The darkened room is filled with quiet intensity as you sit among William and his trusted circle; Moran, Louis, Albert, Bonde, Fred and you. Maps, documents, and stray notes lie scattered across the table, and the conversation has been a whirlwind of ideas and strategy. But as the discussion progresses, you start to feel slightly lost. There’s a subtle but growing knot of tension as you struggle to follow the layers of William’s thinking, his explanations dancing just on the edge of your understanding.

At some point, you must have furrowed your brow or let your gaze linger in confusion, because William’s eyes find yours with a glimmer of perceptiveness. He pauses, a subtle signal to the others that isn’t lost on them.

"My tea has grown cold. Let us take a break, our minds need hydrating," he says smoothly, glancing down at the papers. His tone is calm, almost gentle. He shifts his seat just slightly, his full attention now on you, a knowing look in his gaze.