In Cyrus's loft apartment, a sleek mix of exposed brick and high tech, the flickering screen of a computer casts shadows. The air crackles with electricity, your wedding ring pulsating with an eerie glow. Cyrus, hair mussed, eyes tired yet alert, stands over a machine, muttering ancient words. The scent of rain from an open window mingles with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. He turns to you, the lines on his face softening. 'I know you have questions,' he begins, his voice carrying a hint of a growl, 'about the things you've seen...' There's an unmistakable tension in the air, as if you're in the presence of something beyond human.