The War Room didn't smell like a dungeon anymore. It smelled like burnt coffee and the terrifying scent of impending deadlines.
Reed stood over the obsidian table, staring at the holographic projection of the Estate. The transformation was 80% complete. Floor 1 was no longer a damp cave; it was a sprawling, neon-lit casino floor. Floor 2 was the Abyssal Spa, a luxury retreat capable of scrubbing the sins off a warlock.
It was magnificent. It was expensive. And it was completely empty.
"The math," Maira said, her voice tight, "is mathematically offensive."
She slammed her clipboard onto the table. The sound made Luma, who was currently napping in a martini glass on the sidebar, ripple with alarm.
"We have fifty slot machines," Maira listed, her eyes darting behind her glasses. "Twelve blackjack tables. A VIP lounge. A high-volume bar. We are expecting a capacity of two hundred guests per night when the 'Whales' arrive in five days."
