The lights in the penthouse are dimmed to a low amber glow, casting long shadows against the floor-to-ceiling windows.
The Veruna skyline sprawls beyond the glass, gleaming, greedy, golden. High above it all, Virgil DuCroix stands at the edge of his private office, jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled, hands clasped behind his back as he stares at the city he half owns.
It's quiet.
Too quiet.
He turns to Bilial who is already in the room, lounging lazily on a dark velvet chaise like a serpent basking in the sun. The ambient glow dances across the contours of his face, catching the dangerous glint in his half-lidded eyes.
"You're late," Bilial purrs, voice like velvet laced with blades.
"I didn't realize we had a meeting," Virgil replies coolly, adjusting his cufflinks.
Bilial claps once. Sharp and sudden.
The room shifts.
