James
A long, dark mahogany table stretched between us, its surface scarred by years of ashtrays, glasses, and the weight of blood-soaked deals. His men lined the walls, hulking silhouettes in fitted suits, eyes sharp and cold as ice floes. On our side, my people stayed equally still, a study in quiet, coiled violence.
Across from me, he sat. A man built of bone and ruin, with silver streaking his hair and a face carved by war. His suit was immaculate, though a crimson ring stained the rim of his glass. Siege.
"What brings you to town?" I asked casually, as I took a seat across from him, Fleory sitting beside me.
"You seem to have my daughter" he said after a beat, not a trace of fatherly concern in them. Only ownership.
A slow grin pulled at the corner of my mouth.
"Yeah?"
