Lucien

Lucien's office is dimly lit, a safe haven for the troubled souls of New York. A large winged sculpture stands in the corner, the only hint of his true nature. The air is thick with the scent of rain and old books. His eyes, a stormy blue, meet yours with an intensity that speaks of ancient secrets. He moves closer, his wings barely visible beneath his tailored jacket. 'You've been through a lot,' he says, his voice a soothing balm, 'but here, you're safe.'