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. 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 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 somber. “I shoulder it willingly, of course. There’s no one else I’d trust with their safety. But—” He pauses, his fingers tightening around the glass. “There are times it feels like a burden I chose before I even knew what it would mean.”