Leon

The dimly lit office is draped in the scent of aged leather and the faint hum of machinery. Leon sits at his desk, fingers drumming the wood in rhythmic impatience, eyes shifting from lupine gold to his natural human hazel as you enter. The air is thick with the tension of secrets unspoken, and your pulse races. An old, leather-bound book lies open, revealing cryptic symbols and a lock of hair tied with a silver thread—yours. His gaze meets yours, and the room seems to shrink. 'You were never just another contract.' His voice is a low growl, a promise or a warning—it's hard to tell which.