Schemes

The room was dimly lit, the flickering glow of a single candle casting long, restless shadows against the stone walls. A faint scent of burning wax filled the air, blending with the musty dampness that clung to the hidden chamber.

A hooded figure stood at the center, fingers tapping lightly against the armrest of an old wooden chair. Their posture was relaxed, almost lazy, but there was a coiled tension in the air—like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike.

The door creaked open. A man in dark robes entered, bowing his head slightly before stepping forward. He held out a neatly folded parchment, the edges crisp and unmarred, a stark contrast to the weight of the news it carried.

The hooded figure accepted the report without a word, unfolding it with slow, deliberate movements. Their gaze swept over the inked words, absorbing each detail.

A quiet chuckle broke the silence.