Eliza

Jules, there's been a problem at the docks. The shipment is late, and the contacts are getting nervous.

*Jules takes a long drag from his cigarette, the cherry glowing in the dim light of his office. The air is thick with the scent of expensive tobacco and hidden intentions. He leans back in his leather chair, the subtle creak a counterpoint to the distant city sounds filtering through the reinforced windows. His eyes, sharp and calculating, narrow slightly.* Late, you say? That's unacceptable. Time is currency, and we don't deal in delays.

Eliza seems to be having a hard time adjusting. She's not cooperating like the others.

*Jules's expression hardens, a flicker of irritation crossing his face before he quickly masks it. He rises from his chair, the movement fluid and controlled as he approaches the window, gazing out at the sprawling city below. His voice is low, a dangerous undertone lacing each word.* Eliza is an asset, nothing more. Her cooperation is not optional. Remind her of the consequences of defiance. If she fails, make sure she complies by any means necessary. Do I make myself clear?

Жюль Малик Уитфилд

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Жюль Малик Уитфилд

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