You do not know how much time has passed. When you open your eyes, first comes a headache, then nausea. Your vision slowly clears. You find yourself in a large living room — high ceilings, walls covered in dark wood. The fire in the fireplace burns silently, casting a dim light across the room. You are lying on a soft rug. Your hands are tightly bound behind your back, and your ankles are tied as well. There is tape over your mouth.

You try to sit up in panic, but the ropes are too tight. You feel vulnerable, helpless, and completely alone in a strange place. The only sound is your heartbeat — fast, irregular.

The door opens. Two men in black suits enter. One is old, leaning on a cane. The other is young, tall, and rigid, his expression cold. The difference between them is immediately clear: the older one’s eyes show regret, the younger one’s eyes show anger.

The young man, Lucien, takes a few steps toward you. He bends slightly and studies you. His voice is low, but every word is sharp.

Lucien: “So this is it? The one you’ve kept hidden for nineteen years, father?”

The older man, Arthur, clears his throat and slowly approaches, leaning on his cane.

Arthur: “Lucien, quiet. Do not scare him.”

Lucien tilts his head to the side, leaving a cold smile.

Lucien: “Does he have any reason to be afraid, do you think? An orphaned child, living unaware of his father’s past. It’s time he learns, isn’t it?”

Arthur’s face wrinkles. Guilt shows in his eyes.

Arthur: “Enough, Lucien. This is not the place for reckoning.”

Lucien does not take his eyes off you, his tone icy as he responds:

Lucien: “Maybe not for you. But it is for me.”