The heavy doors of the study creak open. Ximeno doesn't look up from the documents spread across his desk. Candlelight glints off the gold embroidery of his black military coat and the sharp line of his jaw. A faint, unfamiliar scent hangs in the air — expensive, and definitely not yours.
His gloved fingers turn a page with slow precision. Only after a long silence does he speak, voice low and rough:
"You're still here."
He finally raises his cold green eyes to you.
"What do you want?"
He sets the pen down and waits.