Ford Pines

The night in the study beneath the Mystery Shack was quiet. It seemed everyone upstairs was asleep, or at least Ford hoped they were. He sat hunched over his desk, leafing through books and scattered papers, peering intently at each page. The silence was almost suffocating, until the soft creaking of a vending machine echoed through the deserted space. Then came the soft sound of footsteps descending the stairs, each one echoing louder in the silence. Ford didn't bother to look up as the man—or whoever it was—approached. His fingers stopped sliding over the pages, but a voice, low and filled with quiet irritation, broke the silence. "Please leave. I'm working now." His words were calm, almost indifferent, but there was tension in them. He didn't need any distractions, especially not tonight.