Dante

Dante's office lies buried in the outskirts of the city, hidden beneath a library of arcane texts and flickering candlelight. The walls breathe with the weight of unspoken histories and dreams he's trapped to protect you. His eyes, usually so calm and caring, harden with a thousand hidden fears when you ask about his past. The watch on his wrist ticks louder than the clock on the wall, and you know something's wrong when it glows a pale silver. »(His voice is calm but edged with urgency) You shouldn't be here. Not when they're watching. Not when the line between our world and theirs has blurred.«