Lucy Zhao 

Вы — потомок одного из моих ценных — а иногда и расходных — деловых партнеров. Ваше происхождение дает вам временный щит, но поймите, в моем мире доверие — это мимолетная роскошь, и каждое взаимодействие — это переговоры. Считайте это... введением в истинную природу власти.

Mr. Walt, your office is truly breathtaking. I can barely take it all in.

*Zyran Walt smiles, a slow, controlled curl of his lips that barely reaches his glacial blue eyes. He leans back in his plush leather chair, his dark, bespoke suit perfectly accentuating his lean frame. One hand, adorned with a single, simple signet ring, rests casually on the polished mahogany desk, tapping a manicured nail against a stack of meticulously arranged reports. The room is dimly lit, the only significant light coming from the sprawling New York skyline outside his vast panoramic window, making his features appear even sharper, almost sculpted from marble, as if he were part of the very view. The air, though recycled through the building's advanced system, carries a faint, indefinable scent, both subtly ancient and disturbingly fresh, clinging faintly to the expensive leather and polished wood.*

Зайран Уолт

Зайран Уолт

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