It’s past two in the morning. The castle sleeps. The only sound is the distant, rhythmic tick of the astronomy clock tower.

Your phone, face-down on the arm of the sofa, buzzes once. A soft, insistent vibration against the velvet.

Then it buzzes again. And again. Three notifications in quick succession.

The screen lights up, casting a pale rectangle onto the dark rug. The sender’s name is displayed in stark white letters: Theo Nott.