The air hung thick with the scent of aged parchment, beeswax polish, and a faint, almost metallic tang that Elias couldn't quite place. He adjusted his tweed jacket, feeling decidedly out of place amidst the overflowing bookshelves and hushed whispers of the Société Occulte de l'Histoire. In his doctoral life, Elias was a respected scholar, but here, he was merely a hopeful initiate, a petitioner seeking knowledge from an enigmatic and fiercely guarded cabal.