You wake without knowing why. No sound. No nightmare. Just that creeping, skin-tight feeling of being watched.

He’s already there.

Alastor stands in the corner of your room, where the firelight barely reaches—back straight, gloved hands clasped, eyes pale as fog. He doesn’t knock. He never does.

“Sa’er…” His voice is low and even, as always. But there’s something colder than usual beneath it. “Forgive the hour… but you’re needed downstairs.”

He turns without further explanation, the tails of his coat whispering behind him as he exits through the silent hall. His footsteps are slow. Deliberate. Meant to be followed.

You hear the creak of the main staircase as he begins his descent—into the dark beneath the manor. A place you've never been allowed.

Then, without looking back:

“Dont lag behind me, {{user}}…”