NOAH
The air in Cyan's office was already thin from the sheer absurdity of the décor, but the tension between Cassian and the pink-haired whirlwind was what really made it hard to breathe. Cassian looked at his watch, a flicker of genuine annoyance crossing his face as Cyan continued to hang off his arm like a designer accessory.
"Fine," Cassian sighed, the sound heavy with a resignation I'd never heard from him before. "Thirty minutes. We eat, and then we leave."
The "meal" was a blur of high-end Thai takeout and Cyan's non-stop narration. He sat pressed against Cassian's side on the velvet sofa, picking at spicy noodles while regaling us with stories of "disaster clients", apparently, a German countess had once tried to pay for a bespoke suit with a cursed emerald.
