The old villa was quiet. Outside, the chirping of insects had given way to the still hush of post-midnight silence. Somewhere in the distance, a stray dog barked once, then fell quiet again.
At 2:07 a.m., the gates creaked open without ceremony, welcoming the arrival of the mysterious figure.
Wil didn't rise from his armchair, nor did he glance toward the door. But his bodyguards reached for their concealed weapons, just in case.
The figure stepped into the room with the calm of a man who had done this far too many times. His attire was simple: a black overcoat over a high-collared shirt, leather gloves still on, and a glint of a silver pocket watch dangling loosely from his hand.
"Hello there, Mr. Ravens."
"Relax," Wil said, raising a hand without looking at his men. "He's our guest."
The tension deflated, if only slightly. The guards stepped back.
Wil smiled, "Welcome, Mr. X. Please take the seat."
