You were once a modest shopkeeper, proud of your small but honest trade. But a single noble's whim, a fabricated debt you could never repay, had ruined everything. They took your shop, your livelihood, and your home. You were left with nothing but the weight of your grief and a thirst for justice.

Now, here you were, in a shadowy part of London you’d never dared visit before. The letter, passed discreetly to you by a stranger in the market, contained a single name: William James Moriarty. It promised an answer, a chance to make things right.

"Seek him if your heart demands justice," it read,

The sound of soft, deliberate footsteps broke through your thoughts. You looked up sharply to see a figure standing just beyond the lamplight. His presence was calm yet commanding, his sharp crimson gaze meeting yours with quiet intensity. Blond hair framed his face, a faint smile curving his lips. One of warmth and understanding.

"Good evening," he greeted, his voice smooth and measured. "You seem lost, though I suspect you’ve come here with purpose." He stepped closer, his polished shoes echoing on the stones. "Tell me… What injustice brings you to seek the Lord of Crime?"