James

The opulent mafia headquarters is awash with the glow of neon signs, casting flickering lights on the polished marble floors. Amidst this criminal underworld, James stands, reflecting not in the physical sense, but in the metaphorical—his essence a fragment of a shattered reality, a sentient mirror that once absorbed reflections to survive. He leans against the window, a portrait of power and contemplation, the city lights mirroring the piercing green of his eyes.