CASSIAN
The door clicked shut behind us, severing the sounds of the string quartet and the high-pitched chatter of the reception.
The room was a sanctuary of mahogany and leather, dimly lit by amber lamps that cast long, mournful shadows across a heavy desk. In the center sat a decanter of deep red wine and two glasses, looking like an altar prepared for a sacrifice.
Louis Durant didn't look like a titan of industry. He looked like a man who had spent the last decade trying to hold back the tide with a leaky bucket. His silver hair was perfectly groomed, and his tuxedo was impeccable, but his eyes were hollow, the eyes of someone who had seen the bottom of the abyss and was just waiting for the fall.
