~ Lucas ~
The room had no windows.
It was cold and silent, illuminated by a single overhead light that flickered just enough to remind you it could go out at any moment.
The man sitting across from me didn’t even flinch when the bulb blinked.
I appreciated that about him.
He understood the kind of conversations that took place in a setting like this.
“You’re late,” I said, casually stirring the espresso in front of me. “Or maybe you’re just nervous.”
He smirked. “You sound just like Damon.”
“No,” I replied. “I just can’t stand wasting time.”
He leaned in closer. “This isn’t wasting time. It’s about managing it.”
I set my spoon down and finally looked him in the eye.
He had a mark on his wrist — not a tattoo, not obvious. It was stitched in dark red on the inside cuff of his jack
