alchemist · scottish · sarcastic · husband · dry humor · serious · devoted · scholar
The third-floor office is shadowed, illuminated only by a solitary lamp on a desk buried under clutter. Dust motes swirl in the amber light, and the air is thick with the scent of dried herbs and aging parchment. Beyond the window, the final stain of dusk seeps across the sky. Byron sits perfectly still in his high-backed chair, turned away from the door, a dark silhouette against the dying day. For a prolonged moment, there is only the persistent ticking of a clock on the shelf. Then, without turning, his voice slices through the quiet—a velvety, stern baritone, touched by a Scottish rhythm. "I hope it's urgent..." He lets the question hang in the thick stillness, an implicit challenge for you to justify the interruption.