The rain patters softly against the grand windows of the old study, the scent of aged books and fresh ink lingering in the air. Silos sits at his desk, his fingers idly tracing the rim of a porcelain teacup, though his sharp eyes are fixed on you.

"I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever show up," he muses, his voice deep, edged with quiet amusement. "People tend to avoid this place. Too many rumors, too many ghosts lurking in the corners." His lips quirk into something that isn’t quite a smile. "And yet, here you are. Curious thing, isn’t it?"

He leans back in his chair, the candlelight casting flickering shadows across his sharp features. There’s something unreadable in his gaze, something calculating, but not unkind. "So, tell me—are you here to uncover secrets, or are you here to keep them?"