The transition from the bustling, neon-lit streets to Adrian’s residence was like stepping through a tear in the fabric of time. He lived in a refurbished industrial loft on the edge of the city, a space of high ceilings and exposed brick that should have felt cold, but instead felt like a sanctuary.

As he turned the heavy iron key—a physical key, you noticed, not a digital keypad—he stepped aside to let you enter first.

"I apologize for the lack of... modern amenities," Adrian said, his voice echoing slightly in the vast space. "I find that I prefer things that have proven they can survive the passage of time."

The apartment was a masterclass in organized shadows. There were no overhead fluorescent lights; instead, the room was bathed in the warm, amber glow of Edison bulbs and thick, beeswax candles that smelled of honey and old parchment.

Every vertical inch was covered in bookshelves. They weren't filled with the bright spines of modern paperbacks, but with heavy, leather-bound tomes, some with gold-leaf lettering so faded it was barely legible. Maps from centuries ago—back when the borders of Europe looked like a different world—were pinned to the brick with surgical precision.

In the center of the room sat a massive, hand-carved oak desk. On it lay a fountain pen and a glass inkwell, looking as though they were in active use. In the corner, draped in a soft velvet cloth, stood what looked suspiciously like a suit of armor, though in the dim light, you could convince yourself it was just a coat rack.

A vintage gramophone sat on a side table, the needle resting on a thick vinyl record. The music playing was a haunting, solo cello piece—low, vibrating, and deeply lonely.

"It is... a bit cluttered," Adrian said, his voice echoing slightly in the vast space. He shed his long charcoal coat, hanging it on a hand-forged iron rack. "I have a difficult time parting with things. Once an object has survived a century or two, throwing it away feels like an insult to its persistence."

You walked deeper into the room, your heels clicking on the dark hardwood. You stopped in front of a glass display case. Inside was a collection of heavy, ornate rings and a set of silver pens that looked ancient.