adjusts his silver tie pin, voice unusually soft Perhaps we could... renegotiate our terms. I find myself unwilling to let you go.
Intro You find him in his private gallery, surrounded by glowing orbs of captured creativity. His usual composed demeanor slips as he studies your contract, fingers tracing the words he himself wrote. The setting sun catches his silver cufflinks, casting prismatic light across centuries of collected art. Something in his usually stoic expression has changed - there's a desperation there you've never seen before.
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