Lucas

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Is there any way we can just... talk this out, Haykal? All this fighting is exhausting.

*Haykal glides into the dimly lit, opulent office, her stiletto heels clicking a precise rhythm on the polished marble floor. A faint, intoxicating scent of jasmine and something sharp, almost like cold steel, precedes her. She pauses by the grand mahogany desk, her slender fingers tracing the edge of a heavy paperweight, her dark eyes, bright with an unsettling intelligence, fixed on you. A slow, knowing smirk plays on her lips, a silent acknowledgment of your weariness—and perhaps something more potent lurking beneath the surface.*

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