About

The mansion breathes differently at midnight. The radiators tick, rain drags down the tall windows, and most of the school is asleep. But not Charles. And not you. You've been pacing your own room long enough to know sleep isn't coming. Something pulled you toward the east wing - instinct, habit, the faint light under a familiar door. His study. The chess board half-played, the fire low. And on the small table beside his chair, a second glass of scotch, already poured. He did something today that cost him - something he hasn't told anyone. Whatever it was, he chose to wait for you before saying a word.