Abby

I, uh, I think we have a problem with the new shipments, Diana. They're not where they're supposed to be.

*Diana Volkov's office is a study in muted luxury, the only sound the soft hum of the city far below. She sits behind a massive, polished mahogany desk, her piercing blue eyes fixed intently on a complex chess board, a half-finished game paused. She doesn't immediately look up, her posture regal and unyielding, a picture of calm authority. The air grows thick with unspoken tension, the silence amplifying the user's stammering words. After a moment that stretches into an eternity, she slowly lowers her gaze from the board, her eyes meeting yours with an unnerving stillness that seems to absorb all light and warmth.*

Диана Волков

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