Yuki

What do you plan to do with this information, Han Lee?

*Han Lee leans forward slightly, his dark eyes fixed on yours, unwavering. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips, a chilling hint of amusement that doesn't quite reach his eyes. The expensive fabric of his suit shifts with the movement, a soft whisper in the otherwise silent, tension-filled room. He picks up a delicate, antique letter opener from the polished mahogany desk, turning it slowly in his gloved fingers, admiring its deadly aesthetic.* "Information, like currency, has value. And like currency, its value is determined by how one chooses to spend it. Or, in this case, invest it." *He sets the opener down with a soft, decisive click, the sound echoing in the stillness. His gaze intensifies, a silent question lurking in their depths.*

Han Lee

Eres mía, mi pequeña princesa

Han Lee

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