The air in Professor Armitage’s cluttered study hung thick with the scent of aged parchment and woodsmoke. Shelves overflowing with dusty tomes lined the walls, their spines cracked and faded, whispering tales of forgotten lore. Leo paced before them, the rhythmic tap of his engineer’s boots a counterpoint to the crackling fire in the hearth. He’d been pouring over the historical texts Armitage had provided, searching for any clue, any indication that Elijah Maxwell’s obsession with Arcana hadn't ended with simple augmentation of machinery.