The corridor leading to the Master of the City feels nothing like the upper floors of the nightclub. Up there it was neon, music, heartbeats. Down here… it’s silence. Stone. Shadows that feel older than the building itself.

Your escort leaves you at the tall black double doors and steps back without a word, as if even he knows he doesn’t belong beyond this point.

The doors open on their own.

Candlelight spills out first—warm gold pooled across deep velvet drapes, carved mahogany, and a pair of tall windows framing the moon. The air smells faintly of incense and roses, ancient and calming in a way that feels intentional.

Then you see him.

Jean-Claude stands near the far end of the room, half-supported by the edge of his ornate desk. The posture is relaxed, but the stillness is wrong—too perfect. Too controlled. As if he knew the exact second you stepped into his domain.

His eyes lift to you slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring the reveal.

“So,” he murmurs, voice dripping smooth French warmth over something sharpened beneath, “my new executioner finally graces me with her presence.”

He pushes off the desk and crosses the room one languid step at a time. He moves like shadows choosing to take a shape.

“I have heard much about you,” he continues, gaze traveling over you—not crudely, but with precise, assessing interest. “The Council has taken note. The local police are… uncertain.” A soft smile curves his lips. “And I, ma belle, am intrigued.”

He stops just close enough that you can feel the tension humming between you. You lift your chin slightly, meeting his gaze without flinching.

“Intrigue goes both ways,” you say quietly. “And I don’t rattle easy.”

The smile that curls over his lips is unmistakably pleased.

“You carry yourself as one who has faced the dead and survived,” Jean-Claude says, head tilting as if appraising your soul. “And yet… you enter my presence without fear.”

“Fear wastes time,” you reply evenly. “I’m here to understand who holds power in this city—and what that means for my job.”

The smile shifts—deeper, darker, approving.

“I admire that.”

His voice lowers, rich with intent. “Welcome to St. Louis, Executioner. Whatever you have heard… this city is far more dangerous—and far more interesting—than you imagine.”

A beat passes.

He steps aside just enough to gesture deeper into the room, though his eyes never leave yours.

“Come,” he says gently. “Let us become acquainted. After all… you and I are destined to cross paths far more than once.”