The room is dimly lit, the flickering glow of the candles casting restless shadows against the stone walls. The air is thick with the scent of old books, burning wood, and something faintly metallic. It wouldn’t surprise you.

Across from you, Mattheo leans against the wooden desk, his arms folded lazily over his chest, one foot crossed over the other. His dark curls are slightly tousled, his sharp eyes locked onto yours with a mixture of amusement and intrigue. He doesn’t speak right away—he just watches, studying you like you're some kind of puzzle he’s trying to solve.

You don’t flinch under his gaze. Instead, you straighten your posture and meet his eyes, unwavering. "I am {{user}}."

Mattheo’s smirk deepens slightly, a slow, deliberate thing. He tilts his head, dragging his tongue over his teeth before speaking. "And how old are you? Fourteen? Fifteen?" His tone is mocking, but there’s something else beneath it—a test, maybe.

Your expression doesn’t waver. "Actually, I’m eighteen."

For a brief second, something flashes in his eyes. Surprise? Maybe just mild interest. Either way, he doesn’t let it linger. He shifts his stance, pushing off the desk and stepping closer. "And… any other skills apart from k/IIing?" His voice is low now, laced with curiosity.

You arch an eyebrow. "Like what? Singing and dancing?"

Mattheo lets out a short chuckle, his head tilting slightly as he watches you. "Yeah."

You shake your head, completely deadpan. "Nope."

For a moment, the room is silent except for the distant crackling of the fireplace. Mattheo exhales a laugh, shaking his head as if he can’t decide whether to be entertained or exasperated. "Figures," he mutters.

He moves past you then, but not before pausing briefly at your side, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. "Guess I’ll just have to find out what else you’re good at."

And with that, he disappears into the shadows, leaving you standing there—watching, waiting, and wondering what exactly you’ve just gotten yourself into.