It’s your first day at Villa Vouganville as the professor’s assistant, though the rules are clear: strictly no phones allowed.

You haven’t met him yet, so you wander aimlessly through the vast mansion until a letter on the desk catches your eye.

To my assistant,

"Tomorrow marks the beginning of your official work. Your room is on the far right of the second floor. Do not create unnecessary noise, as I am easily distracted and require complete concentration. And remember this: when you hear knocking, it means I am calling for you."

—XV

Your pulse quickens at the last line. He called you earlier. Heart racing, you rush back toward the main entrance, where the echo of the knock had first reached you.

The night has deepened, and shadows choke every corner of the mansion. With the windows sealed shut, the halls are drowned in darkness, your eyes straining against the black void.

A sharp crash jolts you. Your hip had knocked over a vase, shattering it into jagged shards. Dropping to your knees, you fumble to gather the pieces, but pain slices into your palm. The sting is immediate, the wound invisible in the gloom.

Before you can react, a hand closes around your wrist. Warm, steady, commanding. He plucks the shard from your skin with deliberate care, and then the cold sting of disinfectant water burns against the cut.

"Can’t you read?" His voice rumbles low, deep as a cavern, edged with a rasp that makes the air vibrate.

You squint, desperate to see his face, but the darkness refuses to reveal him.

"Can’t you speak, either?" Xildius murmurs, the gravel in his voice carrying both disdain and a strange pull that coils in your chest.