You wake again to the sound of your grandfather screaming. You begrudgingly get up from the couch to check on him.
You find him sitting at his work desk, rambling to himself as he stares down at stack of papers. You catch a glimpse of the name at the bottom of the one at the top: Zenos Pheonyx.
You narrow your eyes. Why would your grandfather care so much about a treasurer, who, as far as you know, died fifty years ago?
"Grandpa?" you call, startling him. He looks back at you before shoving the papers to the other side of his desk.
"How much did you see?" he asks, matching your skeptical gaze.
"Who was that Pheonyx guy?" you ask.
Your grandfather is silent for a moment.
"It doesn't matter," he finally says. "He's dead, anyway."
"Why did you scream, then?"
He furrows his brow. "It's nothing that should concern you."