The night of the meeting arrived, heavy with tension. A cold wind blew, carrying the scent of dust and old iron. Althea stood before the old theater, its once-grand facade now weathered and its paint peeling like aging skin.
The gas lamps along the street flickered weakly, adding a gloomy impression to the building that was once hailed as the city's artistic masterpiece.
Raven was already hidden somewhere in the shadows; his presence was silent yet reassuring, like an unspoken promise of protection. The silver mask covering his face concealed the handsomeness that once captivated many hearts.
Morfida had also concealed herself behind another dark corner, her large black cloak covering her hair and entire body, her silver mask covering half her face—as if everyone present that night chose not to reveal their true identity.
