The Pale Mist
The banquet hall of the Meridian Exchange hummed with the low, electric frequency of high stakes. Crystal chandeliers hung like frozen storms, refracting the amber light into sharp, fractured shards that danced across the polished mahogany floor. Silas Vane stood at the center of it all, a man carved from ice and ambition, his suit tailored to a degree that suggested violence in its precision....
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen