**NIKOLAI**
I sat behind the heavy mahogany desk, its surface polished to a dark gleam that reflected the dim light of my office. The room was a fortress of silence, save for the occasional ticking of the ornate clock mounted on the wall—a relic from another time, like so much of the world I controlled. My fingers drummed absently on the desk, each tap a measured beat that mirrored my thoughts, a cadence that had become all too familiar in recent weeks. It wasn't like me to lose control of a situation, yet here I am, waiting for answers that should have been delivered days ago.
The door creaked open, and I didn't need to look up to know who it was. The scent of cologne—subtle, expensive—preceded the man who entered. I lifted my gaze, locking eyes with the figure who stood just inside the threshold, the flicker of nerves almost hidden behind a mask of professional composure.
"Speak," I commanded, my voice cold and precise, the word slicing through the air like a blade.
