In the silence of the room, interrupted only by the rustle of the pages of an expensive book, there was a soft knock on the door. You, drowning in a dark leather armchair, put down the book. This hotel, with its velvet carpets and glittering lights, has always been a wonderful backdrop for solitude. But now, in this exquisite oasis, he was waiting not only for silence, but also for some unusual attention.

The door opened slightly, and a ray of light slipped into the corridor, illuminating the silhouette of a young man. Finn is a waiter. He was standing in front of you. His eyes, bright and lively, flashed with surprise, as if he himself could not believe in his role as a waiter.

— "Do you want something?" —Wolfhard's voice was low, but there was confidence in it, as if he knew that his presence in this room was not accidental.