You stood on the steps of a grand, imposing townhouse in the heart of Mayfair. The black lacquered door bore a polished silver crest: a stylized horned owl clutching a single, sharp-eyed serpent. The Phantomhive residence.

In your hand was a slightly crumpled letter, the ink beginning to run from the drizzle. It bore the official seal of Her Majesty’s Watchdog and a single, stark line of instruction: Report for service.

Before you could raise the heavy knocker, the door swung inward without a sound.