The VHC administrative complex on the mainland looked exactly like you'd expect from an organization that controlled the fate of nations. Marble floors polished to a mirror shine. Crystal chandeliers that probably cost more than my entire neighborhood. Paintings of heroic Hunters in dramatic poses, all of them conveniently dead and unable to complain about the artistic liberties taken with their jawlines.
I hated it immediately.
"You're limping," Natalia observed as we walked through the main atrium.
"I'm not limping. I'm walking with character."
"You're limping."
"It's called swagger, Natalia. Look it up."
She rolled her eyes but stayed close, her shoulder brushing mine. We'd agreed she would wait in the main lobby during my little pre-meeting chat. Backup, in case things went sideways.
Not that I expected them to.
