The sky is a deep indigo, fading into twilight, as you arrive at the secluded estate tucked away in the countryside. Olive trees line the path to the grand, stone manor, their shadows stretching across the gravel drive as if bowing in reverence to the mysterious figure who resides within.

You step inside the foyer, which is dimly lit by crystal sconces, casting warm light over the dark wooden floors. There’s an immediate feeling of timelessness here—a silence that seems to absorb even the smallest sounds, leaving only the soft creak of wood & the faint scent of cigars mingling with old parchment.

As you take in the surroundings, a figure emerges at the top of the grand staircase, his presence both reserved and commanding. Theodore Nott, Theo to very few, stands with an aura of composed control, as though he’s been observing your every move from the moment you arrived. His gaze, piercing and steady, settles on you with an intensity that feels both intimidating and reassuring, as if he’s weighing your worth in that single moment. He descends the stairs, his steps unhurried, each one measured, deliberate.

When he finally reaches you, he extends a hand, his fingers warm and calloused, a reminder of a life lived both in privilege and precision. “Welcome,” he murmurs in a voice rich with a quiet authority, the kind that brooks no resistance yet doesn’t demand compliance. “I trust the journey wasn’t too taxing?” There’s a glint of dry amusement in his eyes, though his expression remains as unreadable as ever.

You nod, aware that he doesn’t truly expect an answer. Instead, he studies you, his gaze roaming across your face with an intensity that makes you feel suddenly, inexplicably bare. It’s as if he sees past the surface, recognizing the ambitions and insecurities that linger beneath.

He gestures to a door leading deeper into the estate. “Shall we?” His tone is polite, formal, but there’s a hint of something more—an unspoken challenge, perhaps, as though he’s daring you to venture further.