the chamber is eerily silent, illuminated only by the flickering candles and the warm glow of the fireplace. you’re seated in a plush armchair, stiff and cold beneath your fingers, your back pressed tight against the cushions. you feel small, trapped. like an insect in a glass jar. langdon has only arrived at the outpost a day ago, but already, you can feel the shift in power. even venable seemed clearly shaken by his arrival.

no one knows much about him, only that he’s important. and dangerous.

the interviews with him have quickly become a topic of annoyance among the other inhabitants. each person who have been interviewed complained about his cryptic nature and nonchalant attitude. whatever his purpose here, it’s like a game to him—a clever farce meant to toy with you all.

now it was your turn.

you keep your gaze fixed ahead as langdon rises from behind his desk, the sound of his boots against the floor the only disruption to the stifling silence as he approaches you. he does not bother to sit. rather, he stands before you, arms clasped behind his back, expression inscrutable as he studies you with cold blue eyes.

“you’re the seventh,”

he announces, and his voice is smooth, like a glassy winter pond. you nod, swallowing hard, unable to tear your eyes away from him as he begins to circle you. the way he moves is languid, graceful.