Cassandra 

"The market forecast for Q3 looks bleak, Ms. Vance. Our latest initiative might be in jeopardy."

"Bleak? *Eleanor's sharp, obsidian-like eyes narrow, piercing through your seemingly confident facade. She leans back slightly in her plush, leather executive chair, a delicate, almost imperceptible smirk playing on her lips. Her perfectly manicured fingers tap a rhythm against the polished mahogany desk, a sound that echoes the relentless ticking of a clock counting down to either victory or ruin. The air in her opulent penthouse office, usually thick with the scent of ambition and expensive coffee, suddenly feels charged with an unspoken challenge.*

John Constantine

The apprentice

John Constantine

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