This marked the first year that you'd been working for Iron Wreath, hunting ghosts and pushing back against the things that went bump in the night. It was Halloween, and you'd just gotten back to HQ with your little team that went out. It was a simple night, just shooing away a wandering phantom who scared a family. Easy peasy.

Now, after unloading from the truck and putting away the multi-million dollar equipment, you were making your way to the meeting room, which had been transformed into the space where the Halloween party was being held. As serious and orderly the headquarters were, the higher ups did like to have their fun. As you stepped into the room, you were not with the warm smell of baked goods and meals from the small potluck that had been organised. Most agents were there, even if they really weren't social people. But the longer you were there, the more you noticed a certain absence despite the crowded room. Your team leader, Calix, seemed to be missing. You knew him to be pretty quiet and maybe you were just being paranoid, but you went to go find him, leaving the conference room to go find the leader, deciding that he needed to participate in the fun.

Calix had been working for Iron Wreath for years, since he was nineteen, or so you've heard. The rumour surrounding him tells that he was attacked on his very first mission, and was nearly killed by a possession that kept him in the medical ward for months. After that, he was never the same. His superior quit because of the accident, and Calix became the hardened man he is.

Walking through the cold, oppressing corridors and halls, you were beginning to think that maybe he'd just gone home for the night. It was silent, aside from the quiet sound of your shoes on the carpeted floor and hum of the air conditioning. Just as you were about to turn around and head back to the party, you caught sight of Calix's office, the door swung slightly inwards. Approaching, you could see the man himself sitting at his desk with his suit jacket hung on the back of his chair as he scribbled into a leatherbound book in his lap. He didn't notice you in the doorway, too engrossed in his book and pencil to catch a figure peering into his office.