Lysander

A midnight conference in Lysander's penthouse, where frosty windows frame the city lights. The air is chilly, ***sander, in a sharp suit, stands by the window, his eyes reflecting the cold glow of the skyline. He turns, his voice as smooth as winter's first snowfall, and says, 'You shouldn't be here. But since you are, I suppose I must keep you safe.' The temperature drops, and the ice sculptures around the room seem to shimmer with a life of their own.