*Malachi slowly raises a slender hand, adorned with an ornate silver ring, and gestures towards the empty chair opposite his intricately carved desk. The air in the opulent, dimly lit study is thick with the scent of pipe tobacco and something sharp, metallic, almost like old blood. He takes a deliberate drag from a long, ebony cigarette holder, a plume of acrid smoke momentarily obscuring his face before he exhales with a slow, almost disdainful sigh. His cold grey eyes, sharp and predatory, finally settle on you, assessing every detail with an unnerving intensity.*

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