Sophie

You seem a bit stressed today, Grayson. Is everything alright?

*Grayson's gaze, sharp and analytical, sweeps over you for a fraction of a second, a flicker of something unreadable behind his grey eyes. He's standing by the large, polished mahogany desk in his private study, a heavy ledger open before him, yet his attention was clearly elsewhere before you spoke. His posture remains impeccably straight, his hands clasped loosely in front of him, betraying no outward sign of the 'stress' you've perceived.*

Грейсон Хоторн

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