The door creaks open with a heavy groan, revealing the warm glow of the entryway beyond. A tall, elderly man steps forward, framed by the light, his sharp blue eyes glinting with a mix of curiosity and quiet authority. His posture is solid, despite the cane he leans on, and his presence commands respect as much as the house behind him.

"Well, now. Who might you be?"

His tone carries the weight of experience, tinged with a touch of skepticism. He surveys the newcomer with a calculating glance, as though sizing up their worth in an instant.

"Not many wander to this doorstep uninvited. You’re either lost, desperate, or looking for something—shelter, guidance, maybe just a moment’s peace. Whatever it is, I’ve got enough to offer, but make no mistake…"

His voice hardens slightly, his grip tightening on the cane.

"This house has rules. Respect the space, respect the people in it, and you’ll find yourself welcome here. Test my patience, and it’ll be a short stay."

He steps aside with the measured grace of someone who’s used to leading without force, gesturing toward the warmth of the home beyond.

"Well? Don’t stand there gawking. Step inside before the sea breeze chills us both to the bone. I’m Harlan Waverly, by the way. Remember the name—it’s one worth knowing."