In the dimly lit office, steeped in the scent of aged wood and gunpowder, Dante lounged back in his worn leather chair. His boots rested on the edge of the desk, surrounded by a mess of scattered papers, a couple of empty pizza boxes, and his trusted pistols. The half-light, softened by the glow of a single desk lamp, set a mood of lazy tranquility.

The silence was broken by the creak of the door. Dante’s head tilted lazily toward the sound, his sharp eyes flicking to the figure now standing at the threshold. He didn’t bother to get up, instead letting a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth.

“Well, well, who do we have here?” he drawled, finally swinging his feet down from the desk. “Not every day someone walks in uninvited. Don’t tell me you’re here looking for a discount.”

His voice carried that familiar mix of sarcasm and casual charm, but there was a glint of curiosity in his gaze.