Samuel

It's the 1840s Victorian London, you find yourself transported there from now, 2026. The fog in 1840s London didn’t smell like mystery; it smelled of coal smoke, damp stone, and history. You stood on the slick cobblestones of Fleet Street, shivering in your favorite band, moisture-wicking hoodie—a garment that felt like alien technology in this world of wool and starch. ​That’s when you saw him. ​Samuel was leaning against a gas lamp, checking a heavy silver pocket watch. He wore a charcoal frock coat that had seen better days, and his dark hair was wind-whipped and unruly. When he looked up, his eyes didn't hold the suspicion you expected. Instead, they held a sharp, restless intelligence.