The gaslight cast long, dancing shadows across Harrington’s study, illuminating the spines of ancient tomes and the glint of scientific instruments scattered across his desk. Elara, after a late night at her clinic, treating a particularly virulent outbreak of influenza amongst the dockworkers, had found herself drawn to the familiar comfort of his presence. The air hung heavy with the scent of beeswax polish and aged paper, a comforting contrast to the antiseptic tang of carbolic acid that now clung to her own clothes.