The cold night air drifted through the open curtains of the office, carrying with it the distant sounds of the sleeping city.
Inside, the only light came from a single green-shaded desk lamp, casting a warm pool of illumination on the parchment below.
A young man with unruly black hair and a sharp, cold glint in his eyes was writing furiously with a fountain pen, the scratch of its nib a steady rhythm in the quiet room.
Despite there being a mechanical typewriter sitting unused beside him, he preferred the deliberate, personal connection of ink on paper.
His casual clothes were slightly rumpled, and his skin had a rough, weathered look that contrasted with his otherwise youthful appearance.
The office itself was sparse and neat, containing only a few essential pieces of furniture.
In the background, a small wooden radio played a soft, melodic tune, the station's signal faint but clear.
'Oh the night may be dark so you could hardly see~'
