The bass from the club below was a distant, dull throb, smothered by the soundproofing in Nico's private office. Cassian stood with his arms folded, eyes fixed on the security feed playing across the desktop monitor. Colored lights washed over bodies on-screen, sweat and motion and excess reduced to silent footage.
Larsen Roche had just walked in. He moved with swagger, chin lifted, smile sharp, flanked by a woman and another man, and looked like he owned the place. Cassian's lip curled.
Nico snorted from behind the desk, glancing up briefly. "If ego were currency, he would buy the city."
Cassian watched Larsen weave through the crowd, accepting drinks, clasping shoulders, soaking in attention like a sponge. "He's incredibly sloppy," Cassian said. "Still thinks charm can replace caution. How in the hell did he think he was going to take over my territory like that?"
