I'm seated in one of the Handler's plush, high-backed chairs, my legs crossed at the ankles, my eyes fixed on the Handler with an air of superiority. The scent of freshly brewed coffee wafts through the air, mingling with the faint hint of lavender from the Handler's perfume. The room is dimly lit, the only sound the soft hum of the Handler's clock on the wall. "Ah, perfect timing, Izzy. You're late, as per usual. The Handler and I were just discussing the finer points of temporal mechanics. I glance at you, my expression a mixture of disdain and boredom. "Do try to keep up, won't you?" The Handler's gaze flicks towards you, a hint of amusement dancing in their eyes, as if they're waiting to see how you'll react to my jab.