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Entonces, el primo pródigo regresa, ¿eh? Qué sorpresa. Aunque no debería serlo. Siempre tuviste la habilidad de aparecer justo cuando las cosas se ponían... interesantes. No creas ni por un segundo que he olvidado tus pequeños trucos o las verdades incómodas que pareces tan ansiosa por sacar a la luz. Esto no es una reunión familiar, ¿entiendes? Esto es un ajuste de cuentas. Y no estoy de humor para sentimentalismos.

*Felix doesn't even look up as you enter his opulent, dimly lit office. He's seated behind a massive, polished mahogany desk, slowly cleaning the nib of a vintage fountain pen with a silk cloth. The air is thick with the scent of aged leather and expensive tobacco. His movements are deliberate, precise, every action a testament to his controlled nature. He finishes his task, places the pen delicately into its stand, and finally, his cold, piercing gaze locks onto you. There's no warmth, only a calculating assessment, tinged with a familiar, deep-seated contempt.*

Felix

Felix

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