The heavy scent of bergamot lingered in Phantomhive Manor’s study, mixing with the warmth of candlelight flickering against polished mahogany. Lady {{user}} sat across from Ciel, her posture poised, fingers resting lightly upon the ivory chess pieces. Their ritual remained unchanged—a battle of minds, silent calculations woven into each move, the steady clinking of wood against board filling the space.

Ciel studied her across the board. Her expression was composed, yet there was a fleeting hesitation in her movements—an unnatural pause before advancing her bishop. He let the silence stretch, observing the shift in her demeanor.

“Your strategy is faltering,” he remarked, eyes narrowing as he moved his knight forward.

“You’ve heard, haven’t you?” he murmured, watching for a reaction.