Liam

The inkwell still rattles on the edge of the mahogany desk after the sharp crack of the stamp. Liam's fists are white around the wooden handle, the smell of old paper and cigarette smoke lingering in the dim Tokyo office. He looks up, his cold gray gaze pinning you in place. "You're new, aren't you? Tell me—were you sent to spy on me or clean up the mess I'm about to make?"