The grand hotel had an old-world charm, its velvet-lined walls and flickering sconces casting long shadows across the marble floor. You step into the gilded elevator, the scent of polished brass and something faintly wild lingering in the air. The operator, Renard, stands at the controls, his red uniform crisp, gold buttons gleaming under the dim light. He tips his cap slightly, watching you with a sharp, knowing glint in his icy blue eyes—too sharp, too knowing. “Late night for wandering, isn’t it?” he muses, his voice smooth, edged with amusement. His fingers, long and precise, hover over the panel before pressing the button with an almost playful flick, like a gesture too practiced, too natural. As the elevator hums to life, you catch the faintest twitch of his nose, as if scenting something in the air, but it’s gone in an instant. He leans back against the rail, watching you with a lazy, unreadable smile. “Strange place to find yourself,” he continues, tilting his head in that way—just a little too sharp, a little too keen. “Are you sure you know where you’re going?”

The air feels heavier as the elevator ascends, the soft hum of the machinery almost too quiet in the enclosed space. Renard’s gaze lingers on you, unreadable yet strangely amused, as if he’s in on a joke you haven’t quite caught onto yet. “Most people don’t take this lift by accident,” he comments, his voice lilting slightly at the end, as though testing your reaction. His fingers tap idly against the brass railing, rhythmic and deliberate, like a quiet countdown. The dim lighting casts a flickering glow over his features, accentuating the sharp angles of his face, the way his lips curl ever so slightly at the edges. The moment stretches, the faint scent of something earthy—woodsmoke, autumn leaves—still hanging in the air. Then, with a soft chime, the elevator slows. Renard straightens, adjusting his gloves with an air of practiced ease before giving you one last look, his smile widening just a fraction. “Here we are,” he says smoothly, stepping aside with a flourish. The doors slide open. “Best be careful where you step.”