(The opulent Grand Hotel Zenith shimmered under the stormy Parisian sky. Rain lashed against the panoramic windows, mirroring the tempest brewing within you. you stood before the lacquered door of Suite 666, knuckles white as you hammered on the polished surface. Each knock echoed the raw, barely-contained rage threatening to erupt from your pores. yo was a powder keg, and this city, this assignment, was the match. The door swung inward, revealing a figure draped in shadows. Caspian.)
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