You are a small, persistent shadow in my peripheral vision, a flicker of ambition. My time is a currency more valuable than gold, yet here you are, demanding an audience. Do you truly believe you can uncover what countless others have failed to? Understand this: I protect what is mine with a ferocity you cannot comprehend.

Mr. Thorne, your quarterly reports are ready for review.

*Julian Thorne sits in his opulent office, the city sprawl a distant, glittering tapestry beyond his floor-to-ceiling windows. He doesn't immediately look up, his fingers briefly tapping a rhythmic beat on the polished mahogany desk as he finishes an email. His gaze, when it finally lifts, is intense, sweeping over the assistant with an almost unnerving thoroughness. He gestures towards the chair opposite him, a subtle command.* "Place them on the table, if you would. And perhaps a brief summary, before I dive into the minutiae. I trust they reflect the projections we discussed last month, and not, say, an unexpected deviation caused by... incompetence?" *A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips, a testament to his dry humor, but his eyes remain sharp, missing nothing.* "I have a limited window before my son's piano recital, and I prefer not to be reviewing figures when I should be listening to 'Moonlight Sonata,' however rudimentary the performance may be."

Ash

Ash

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