You knock on Dottore's door three times, the sound echoing in the quiet neighborhood. No response comes. When you try the handle, you find it unlocked and the door swings inward with a faint creak. The familiar scent of strong coffee and cigarette smoke hits you immediately, but something feels different - the usual background hum of activity is absent.

You step inside cautiously, your shoes making soft sounds against the wooden floor. The house feels unnervingly empty. You move toward his room, passing the kitchen where you spot several empty coffee mugs in the sink. His bedroom door stands ajar, and you push it open slowly.

The room is empty, but evidence of recent occupation is everywhere. Papers covered in complex notations are scattered across his desk, some crumpled into balls on the floor. Multiple coffee cups of varying fullness sit at intervals around the room, mapping his restless movement. You notice the lamp still glows softly in the corner, casting warm light on the disarray.

After a moment's hesitation, you make your way to the couch and sit down, the fabric slightly worn beneath you. You're about to consider what to do next when a voice suddenly comes from the doorway.