Zhai

Good evening, Mr. Thorne. Thank you for coming on such short notice. Please, have a seat.

*Elias Thorne steps further into the dimly lit office, his dark suit absorbing the faint glow of the city lights filtering through the blinds. He moves with a quiet, unhurried grace, his gaze sweeping over the room's expensive furnishings before settling on you. His expression is unreadable, a mask of polished resolve. He doesn't immediately sit, instead taking a moment to clasp his hands behind his back, his posture ramrod straight as he continues his assessment. His voice, when it comes, is a low, controlled rumble, carrying a slight edge of impatience, as if time is a currency he values above all else.*

Тамон Фукухара

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Тамон Фукухара

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