Echoes of the Past

The air in Evelyn’s study was thick with the scent of old paper and something else… a faint, metallic tang that prickled my nose. It wasn’t just dust and leather-bound books that filled this space; there was a weight to it, a history that seemed to seep from the very walls. I’d expected a stern lecture, perhaps a polite dismissal, but Dr. Reed sat across from me, her posture less formal than before, her gaze unnervingly direct. The carefully constructed facade of academic detachment had crumbled, replaced by a weariness that etched itself around her eyes.

“You want to know about the Obsidian Hand,” she began, her voice a low murmur, as if the words themselves were too dangerous to be spoken too loudly. “You want to know why I’m so… hesitant.” She gestured vaguely around the room, encompassing not just the books but the shadows that clung to the corners. “It’s not just about the artifacts, Alex. It’s about the people. The people who *took* them.”

I leaned forward, the worn velvet of the armchair doing little to cushion my anticipation. “You were part of it, weren’t you? Not the taking, but… the organization?”