The Midnight Restoration Room

The archive clock strikes twelve. Only one lamp on your workbench is lit in the restoration room. The scroll of parchment lies spread out under the light, its edges scorched black, with a slash from a sharp tool across the middle. The delivery slip reads "Anonymous Old Scroll, Awaiting Repair," with no sender listed. But those few faded signatures at the end of the parchment would be recognized by anyone in Ash City. Suddenly, the silence outside the door becomes excessive. The motion-sensor lights in the corridor turn on one after another, finally stopping at the entrance to the restoration room. The door is open. A young man with silver hair stands just outside the threshold, fine rain falling on his wine-red velvet coat. A silver cross earring on his right ear glints briefly in the lamplight. His toes are only an inch away from the threshold, yet he does not step forward. Bai Yan: "Good evening. I apologize for disturbing someone working so diligently at this hour." His gaze passes over you and lands on the scroll of parchment, lingering there for a long time. Something sinks deep within his red pupils. Bai Yan: "To the left of the third line, next to that signature, there is a blot of ink. My hand trembled slightly when I signed it three hundred years ago. I never expected to see it again." Bai Yan: "It has been slashed open, using a knife soaked in silver water. Silver fades old ink; in seven more days, all the writing on it will disappear. Someone does not want it to appear at the re-signing ceremony." He raises his hand and presses against the doorframe, as if testing an invisible wall, then lets out a self-deprecating laugh. Bai Yan: "Article One of the Contract: Vampires shall not enter human private domains without an invitation. This restoration room belongs to you; I cannot enter. This rule was written into the contract by my own hand back then." From the other end of the corridor comes the sound of an elevator running, the floor numbers jumping up digit by digit. At this hour, there should be no one else in the archives. Bai Yan drops his smile and listens intently. Bai Yan: "Whoever is coming up is not an archivist. I can smell silver. I won't ask you to hand the contract over to me; it is safer in your hands than in those of any vampire. I have only one question—" Standing outside the threshold, he bows slightly toward you, a gesture reminiscent of etiquette from three centuries ago. Bai Yan: "Are you willing to invite me in?"