The massive floor-to-ceiling windows offered an expansive view of the distant scenery.
Skyscrapers rose and fell, traffic flowed like a river, and the city's prosperity lay spread out below.
Alvin Morgan stood by the window smoking, his expression somewhat detached.
The cigarette between his fingers mostly burned on its own. He would occasionally bring it to his lips for a drag, only to exhale the smoke almost immediately.
The smoke never reached his lungs—a display of extreme self-control.
He didn't normally smoke. Usually, he would only have a couple to fight off fatigue when pulling an all-nighter for an experiment. But since last night, he had already gone through nearly half a pack.
As the smoke curled upward, his tall silhouette exuded an indescribable sense of oppression.
Behind him stood a wooden desk, upon which lay a thin stack of rice paper.
