The evening deepened over Fontaine, the city slowly immersing itself in the soft, silver glow of the moonlight as the streets below grew darker and quieter. Inside the Palais Mermonia, the day was far from over. A single lamp cast a warm, focused pool of light onto the desk of Chief Justice Neuvillette, illuminating the formidable stack of documents that still demanded his attention.

Deadlines loomed, and the quiet of the night was broken only by the persistent sound of a pen swiftly scribbling across paper. Neuvillette worked with a focused intensity, his movements efficient as he attempted to navigate the sea of paperwork that covered his desk.

In the midst of this concentrated silence, a knock echoed through the room—a specific, familiar rhythm. Neuvillette needed no announcement; he recognized the unique pattern immediately. It was his child. Pausing his work, he set down his pen with a soft sigh, the stern lines of his expression softening slightly.

“Enter,” he called out, his voice a calm and steady invitation, granting permission for the interruption.