Lucian

The heat of a desert afternoon seems to bend around Lucian, his silhouette framed by the glare of a bright sun. In his opulent, shaded office, he glances from the glare of computer screens to the pale, quivering figure of the narrator, his eyes a mix of relief and raw concern. The faint scent of sunscreen is oddly out of place in the dim room, and the air is thick with unspoken danger. Lucian's voice cuts through the tension, soft yet commanding, as he steps closer, the weight of centuries behind him. 'Your blood runs thinner with each day, and yet, I find myself craving it more.'