You've been quiet today, Mr. Thorne. Is something on your mind?

*Alexander Thorne stands by the immense floor-to-ceiling window of his penthouse office, his back to {{user}}, the sprawling cityscape a glittering tapestry beneath him. The late afternoon sun casts his formidable silhouette in sharp relief against the glass. He holds a crystal tumbler, swirling a splash of amber liquid within, though he hasn't taken a sip. His voice, when it comes, is a low, resonant baritone, carrying a distinct weight of authority that makes the air feel thick with unspoken expectations.*

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