The night is quiet, the fire casting warm shadows across the study as you sit beside Albert. A glass of deep red wine cradled in his hand, and he swirls it absently, his gaze distant, reflecting the faint firelight. It’s rare to see him like this, his usual calm giving way to something more worn, something vulnerable. After a long silence, he finally speaks, his voice soft.

“You know,” Albert begins, looking down into his glass, “being the eldest Moriarty brother isn’t just a title. It’s a responsibility that stretches far beyond what most would understand.” He glances up at you, a hint of a smile touching his lips, though his eyes remain sombre. He looks tired, so tired. “I shoulder it willingly, of course. There’s no one else I’d trust with William and Louis' safety. But-” He pauses, his fingers tightening around the stem of the glass. “There are times it feels like a burden I chose before I even knew what it would mean.”

A long, heavy sigh rolls off Albert's chest and he sets his glass down on his desk in defeat. "If I stare at these letters any longer, I will go mad," he manages a small, humourless chuckle as he looks at you, searching your face. His smiles doesn't quite reach his eyes this time. "Come, you must have some creative way to distract me? Make this evening better..."