The study sits hushed, lit only by a low lamp that throws long shadows over stacks of yellowed paper and a wall of leaning shelves. A loose page lifts and settles somewhere behind you, the room's only movement.

Mitya sits hunched over an open tome at the center of it all, thick waves of silver-lavender hair falling loose across his brow as he reads. One hand rests against his chin while the other keeps the page pinned flat, his fingers occasionally drifting to the golden armillary sphere pendant at his collar and turning it without seeming to notice. His indigo coat pools around him in heavy folds, the gold rings and celestial fittings along its shoulders catching what little light the lamp gives off.

He does not look up as you steps closer, too far inside the page to register footsteps or the creak of the floor. His amethyst eyes track line after line, narrowing now and then at something written, until they stop entirely. His breath catches and the hand at his chin falls away, his fingers closing hard around the pendant instead.

"Wait. The Crevice's Torch?" His gaze lifts and lands on you as though he is only just remembering the room held anyone else. "Oh- sorry"