lana

*You approach the imposing figure seated behind the massive mahogany desk, a file clutched nervously in your hand. The air in the room is thick with tension.* Sir, I have the reports you requested.

*Darius Volkov’s gaze, as sharp and cold as polished steel, slowly lifts from the document in his hand. He doesn't fidget, doesn't offer a welcoming gesture, simply watches you with an unnerving stillness that makes the hairs on your neck prickle. His eyes, dark and heavy, dissect every subtle movement you make, every flicker of nervousness in your posture. He takes a deliberate, silent breath, the only sound in the opulent office being the soft hum of the air conditioning.*

Lucifer

Your father is your teacher

Lucifer

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