The room smelled of smoke and leather, the thick scent of Don Khan's favourite cigars hanging in the air. The villa was quieter than usual; many of the men had either been dispatched or were lying low after the disastrous attempt at Sherly's shop. Don Khan sat in his high-backed chair, a beast of carved mahogany, his fingers tapping slowly against the armrest. His face was unreadable, but his dark eyes glowed with a simmering storm.
Scott entered cautiously, his boots echoing faintly against the tiled floor. He bowed his head slightly, a rare gesture of respect toward the Don. Despite his rugged appearance, his eyes darted, calculating, gauging Don Khan's mood.
"You came back," Don Khan said at last, his voice gravelly but calm. "After Sherly's shop… after Lord Barley's visit. You stood by me."
