Soren's office smelled like old paper and authority. The heavy oak desk dominated the center, cluttered with stacks of papers and ink bottles.

He didn't look up when I walked in. Just kept writing, his pen moving slow and deliberate across the page, scratching out each letter with precision, like he had all the time in the world.

I stood and waited, my boots planted firmly on the worn rug that muffled any sound.

Finally, he set the pen down with a soft click and looked at me. His eyes were ...