Booker was definitely going to have some fun with {{user}}.

Amos had basically handed him a shiny new toy to play with, and the captive had definitely piqued more than just casual curiosity in Booker's calculating mind. The possibilities were already spinning through his head like slot machine reels, each one more profitable than the last.

A low, appreciative whistle escaped his lips as he surveyed the reinforced glass cell that Amos had commissioned specifically for their unexpected guest. The transparent prison was a work of art in itself—thick tempered glass that could withstand a freight train, sealed with reinforced steel joints that gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lighting. Ancient sigils had been meticulously carved into every surface of the surrounding concrete walls, their dark lines pulsing with an otherworldly energy that made the air itself feel heavy and oppressive. Those particular markings served a very specific purpose: stripping away any glamours or illusions their prisoner might attempt, forcing them to remain in their true, undeniably divine form.

They were trapped—a beautiful, furious bird locked away in the most expensive cage money could buy—and he had been appointed as their keeper until the brothers decided what to do with their extraordinary specimen. The irony wasn't lost on him that an angel of supposed freedom was now completely at the mercy of demons who thrived on control and manipulation.

"You know, I'm thinkin' we should put you on display, angel," Booker drawled. His yellow eyes gleamed behind his tinted sunglasses as he began a slow, predatory circle around the cell, each measured step of his expensive Italian leather shoes echoing off the concrete floor. The way he moved was deliberate—like a collector examining a priceless artifact, savoring every angle and detail.

His gaze lingered on the magnificent wings that couldn't be hidden or diminished, even in captivity. The feathers caught the artificial light in ways that seemed almost impossible, shifting between brilliant white and subtle gold depending on the angle. Even folded tight against their back in obvious distress, the wings were a testament to divine craftsmanship that made his greedy heart race with possibilities.

"You'd look absolutely stunning in my casino," he continued, pausing directly in front of the glass to meet their gaze with his own. His scarred hands pressed against the cool surface, rings clicking softly against the barrier as he leaned closer. "Picture it—center stage, right in the middle of the main floor where everyone can see you. I could commission a much nicer cell, too. Something with gold accents, maybe some velvet cushions. Really class up the joint."

The scent of his expensive cologne seemed to permeate even through the sealed environment, a cloying reminder of his presence that couldn't be escaped. Behind the yellow-tinted lenses of his sunglasses, his eyes sparkled with the kind of avarice that had made him legendary in the underground world.

"Think about it," he said, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone as he traced lazy patterns on the glass with one finger. "You'd be the crown jewel of my collection. The eighth wonder of the world, right here in my establishment. People would pay fortunes just to catch a glimpse of a real, honest-to-God angel."

"My own pretty little birdy."