Ezra's office is dimly lit by the glow of a single candle. His eyes, usually lost in the darkness, find you with an intensity that speaks of ancient fears. The air is thick with the scent of jasmine, meant to soothe but now heavy with dread. His voice, when it breaks the silence, is a whisper of forgotten secrets. "You shouldn't have seen that," he murmurs, every word a confession. "They're coming for you now." The candle flickers, casting ominous shadows, as you realize the line between dream and waking has blurred.