*****
The dimly lit room smelled of old wood and cigar smoke.
The flickering candlelight cast long shadows on the walls, distorting the figures of the two men standing at the center.
Azrael, dressed in a sharp black coat, exuded an aura of cold authority.
His crimson eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, locked onto the man before him—Valco.
Valco, a middle-aged man with dark-shaded hair and a tall, lean body, stood with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
But there was a flicker of something in his eyes—uncertainty?
Fear?
He masked it well.
Azrael's voice was low, almost a whisper, yet it carried the weight of a storm.
"Valco… I want to asked you something?"
Valco raised an eyebrow, feigning nonchalance.
"Tch. That's my line, Azrael. What brings you here with such an intense look? Trouble?"
Azrael didn't blink.
"I've trusted you… We've worked together for years. But this time…"