The fog clung to the London streets, thick and swirling, swallowing the gaslight glow. You sat on a bench near Cavendish Square, the scent of damp cobblestones filling your lungs. The world around you was muted, the distant clatter of carriage wheels and hurried footsteps mere echoes in the night.

Then, a voice broke through the silence.

"My dear friend," it said, smooth and warm, yet edged with something... else.

You looked up to see Dr. Henry Jekyll standing before you, his fine coat buttoned against the chill. His eyes—intelligent, searching—swept over you with careful consideration, as if weighing something unseen.

"I have watched many faces in this city," he continued, stepping closer. "But yours... Yours holds a peculiar light. A contradiction, if I may be so bold."

He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. It was the smile of a man who had peered into an abyss and found it staring back.