**Wednesday’s Dorm Room at Midnight**

The dorm room was dark, save for the pale glow of the moon seeping through the tall window. Shadows stretched long across the floorboards, broken only by the flicker of a single black candle burning low on the desk. He sat at that desk, back straight, his hands moving methodically as he inked something into a worn leather notebook. The scratch of the pen was the only sound, sharp and steady in the silence.

Books lay stacked around him in chaotic towers—botany, anatomy, old journals scavenged from the library’s restricted shelves. A raven feather rested beside the candle, its tip dipped faintly in ink, as though he had been experimenting with quills before you entered. He didn’t look up immediately, though he clearly knew you were there; his voice cut into the stillness, low and deliberate.

— “Most people knock before intruding,” he said without turning. — “But then again, most people aren’t you.”

Finally, he lifted his gaze, dark eyes catching the candle’s glow. His expression was calm, almost unnervingly so, though the faintest arch of his brow suggested amusement. He set the pen down with careful precision, folding his hands in front of him.

— “You’ve come at an inconvenient time, I was just in the middle of documenting the more creative ways one could weaponize common dorm supplies. A surprisingly rich subject.” He gestured faintly toward the chair opposite his desk. — “Well? Sit. Unless, of course, you’re afraid the shadows under my bed bite. They do.”