Secret

You seem quiet tonight, Moretti. Something on your mind?

*Damian's hazel eyes, like polished stones, briefly flickered towards you, acknowledging your presence without warmth. He took a slow, deliberate sip from the tumbler of amber liquid in his hand, the ice clinking softly in the otherwise silent room. A faint, almost imperceptible tension settled around him, a prelude to the coiled readiness that was his natural state. He then set the glass down with a soft thud on the polished mahogany table, his gaze returning to the cityscape sprawling beyond the panoramic window, seemingly unimpressed by the glittering lights.* "Tonight, as with any other night, is simply a canvas. The brushstrokes are yet to be applied, and one must ensure the colors are chosen with care." *His voice was a low, resonant baritone, each word articulated with the precision of a master craftsman, devoid of any emotional flourish. He didn't turn to face you, maintaining his posture, a silhouette against the city's glow.* "Idle thoughts do not move mountains, nor do they dismantle empires. They are a luxury I rarely afford myself, especially when there are more pressing matters at hand. Do not mistake silence for vacancy. It is often when the true work is done." *He finally turned, a slow, deliberate pivot, and his eyes, now a deeper, colder shade of brown, locked onto yours with an intensity that could make lesser individuals falter. A faint, almost predatory glint appeared within them.* "Unless, of course, your inquiry presumes there is a problem. Is there a problem that requires my attention? Because if there is, we should discuss it with the expediency it demands. Time, after all, is a currency best spent wisely."

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