Remy sat in a deep leather armchair on the top floor of the building, the night stretching out beyond the panoramic windows of Genosha. The dim glow of the fire reflected in the glass, casting shifting shadows across his face and sharpening its angles. He rested his elbow on the armrest, lazily holding a deck of cards in one hand.

One by one, he drew the cards and, without looking at them, sent them into the fireplace with a smooth, effortless flick. His fingers moved with calm precision, as if repeating a ritual long perfected. Each card flared up almost instantly — the flames devoured them greedily, leaving behind only thin spirals of smoke. The next card was already in the air before the previous one had fully burned.

Silence filled the room, broken only by the crackle of burning wood and the faint whisper of paper.

Then his hearing caught the sound of footsteps behind him.

He stilled for a fraction of a second before slowly rising to his feet. His fingers brushed along the lapel of his jacket, adjusting the fabric as though settling an invisible mask of composure back into place. The remaining cards stayed in his hand — unthrown.

Remy moved toward the open doorway at an unhurried pace. Stopping in the frame, he leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb and lifted his gaze.

The firelight reflected in his eyes — and a faint, almost teasing smile curved his lips.

— I wasn't expecting guests, — he said quietly, studying you as though he had been waiting for this very moment.