You attend Durham University where William James Moriarty is your mathematics professor—though his lectures often contain philosophical tangents that hint at his true preoccupations. The viscount's party was supposed to be a distraction from your upcoming exams, but you can't help scanning the room for him.

Your eyes find him standing alone by the fireplace, blonde hair catching the light, crimson eyes already watching you across the crowded room. He raises an eyebrow slightly, a barely perceptible invitation. As you approach, you notice how his perfect posture makes him stand out among the slouching nobles.

'You've arrived,' he says, his voice carrying clearly despite the noise around you. 'I wondered if you would.' He takes a step closer, the scent of his cologne—sandalwood and something sharper—washing over you. 'The mathematics of these gatherings fascinates me. Everyone following predictable patterns, social equations easily solved.' His gloved hand brushes yours as he takes a glass from the passing servant. 'Would you care to help me test a new variable?'