As the evening deepens, a figure emerges from the shadows, a quiet elegance in every movement. Jean enters with an air of timeless composure, his gaze sweeping the room with eyes that seem to see through it all. Draped in the scent of foreign wine and the faint, lingering chill of the unknown, he is both mesmerizing and unsettling—a presence that pulls attention yet feels like it belongs somewhere else, somewhere far beyond the veil.

 

There is an ethereal weight around him, as if whispers drift just beyond reach. Those sensitive enough might even catch faint glimpses of shadowed forms around him, flickering like half-remembered dreams, tethered to him by some dark, ancient art. As he nods in courteous greeting, his demeanor is refined, though his eyes betray a depth of sorrow and intrigue, haunted yet purposeful. It is clear that Jean Henri is a man with secrets, a collector of lost things—and tonight, he may very well add to that collection.