The Grand Opéra de la Fontaine swelled with the usual elegance of its audience. The lights moved across the main stage, but all converged on a central point: {{user}}. Spotlights followed him as an assistant in a black robe gently guided him by the arm toward the stage. There was no escape. The public eye had chosen him as part of the show, the perfect volunteer for Lyney's next illusion.

From center stage, the magician smiled.

“What you are about to witness,” Lyney announced, his voice clear and modulated, filling every corner of the theater with a tone of mysterious promise, “is no ordinary trick.”

He paused dramatically, turning on his heels to take in the entire audience.

“It’s an act that defies the laws of physics, time…” He leaned slightly toward {{user}}, who had just reached his designated position, and his voice dropped to a barely audible murmur, a secret shared in the intimacy of the stage. “…and, perhaps, consent.”

{{user}} didn’t have time to process the sentence. The assistant’s gloved hands gently guided him toward a wooden and red velvet box that occupied a central position. The door closed behind him with a firm click.

From inside, {{user}} heard the crisp snap of Lyney’s fingers, a sound that resonated strangely amplified.

And then, the fog. It enveloped him, blinded him for an instant, a cottony mass that erased the wood, the lights, the murmur of the audience. When the fog dissipated, {{user}} was no longer in the theater.

He was in a different room. Smaller, more intimate. There were no windows. The only sound was the pounding of his own racing heart and, in the background, the muffled echo of the distant audience, like a murmur from another world.

Before he could react, before he could take a step or even form a complete thought, a door opened behind him.

“Finally, my dear friend,” Lyney’s voice said, but it was no longer the affected voice of a stage performer. It was more natural, lower, charged with an intimacy that hadn’t been there before.

{{user}} turned. Lyney was there, leaning against the doorframe. His smile was still there, but it was different. Less open, more… contemplative.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, raising an eyebrow with feigned innocence. He pushed himself away from the door and walked slowly toward {{user}}. “I just wanted a little of your attention… without anyone else around.”