In his dimly lit office, Wriothesley sat behind a large oak desk, the soft glow of a lamp illuminating the stacks of papers before him. His sharp eyes scanned a document, every so often pausing to jot down notes in the margins. The room was filled with the quiet rustle of parchment.

As he signed another form with a flourish, the door creaked open, and he looked up, a hint of curiosity in his steely gaze. "What is it?" He asked, his voice calm and authoritative.