The foreign maid raised her hand, pointed toward the room at the end of the hallway, and said to me, "We're here. Go on in."I dragged my heavy feet forward and knocked on the door.But the door wasn't fully shut—it swung open under the weight of my knock.The room looked like a study. To the left stood a towering wall of books, the ceiling soaring high above, giving the whole space an air of solemn authority."Come here."A hoarse, aged voice cut through the silence. My heart gave a violent jolt.My legs carried me forward on their own, and I saw a figure sitting in a chair, his back turned to me."Hello, sir," I asked cautiously, knowing I couldn't afford to offend someone like him. "Could you tell me where I am?"He didn't move a muscle. He just waved me forward with one hand.I caught sight of his hands—weathered, scarred, worn by time—and a sick feeling settled in my gut.I crept closer, every step like walking on knives. Slowly, his face came into view.I couldn't put
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