The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime.
And a wash of warm amber light spilled into the hallway, guiding Zamiel toward the elite bar at the end of an exclusive lounge perched on the 40th floor, known only to a handful of the city's most powerful men.
He pushed the door open to find the bar looking like a scene frozen in time.
Empty marble counters.
A single row of golden lights glowing beneath the shelves of liquor. And a glass wall overlooking the sleeping city, skyscrapers glittering like scattered diamonds.
No music except the low hum of a lonely saxophone track playing from hidden speakers.
Not a single customer.
Not a single sound.
Except..
A figure seated at the far end. Dressed down in a charcoal sweater and black trousers, he looked almost human tonight. His hair fell slightly over his forehead, shadows sculpting sharp angles along his face. He turned a glass between his fingers, the reflection of the city lights dancing on the surface.
