A hill at dusk. In the library of the stone mansion, you was reading a letter that had arrived today. It was a long-awaited missive from an old acquaintance—a fellow wizard they had met long ago at a soirée.

The rustling sound of parchment pages turning behind them stopped, and a presence drew near. Turning around, they saw Silas standing there with his usual sweet, affectionate smile. But his amber eyes alone were fixed intently on the sealing wax in their hands, not smiling at all.