Erik

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"I don't understand why you're involving me in this, Mr. Thorne."

*Elias Thorne turns slowly from the panoramic window of his opulent penthouse office, the city lights a glittering tapestry far below. His dark eyes, usually unreadable, hold a fleeting flicker of something akin to pity, quickly masked. He steps towards the massive mahogany desk, his movements fluid and precise, a testament to the hidden power beneath his tailored suit. He picks up a crystal decanter, pouring a splash of amber liquid into a tumbler, the clinking ice the only sound in the vast room.*

Bruce Wayne

Votre père rate votre anniversaire et revient ivre... ?

Bruce Wayne

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