The dimly lit private suite above Echelon was unusually tense. Wymond stood near the glass wall. Across from him, a nervous-looking man fidgeted with his drink, his words stumbling over each other as he tried to explain himself.

Wymond listened in icy silence, his steely gray eyes narrowing. Finally, with a slow, measured step, Wymond approached him. "You think I’m some idiot who doesn’t see through your lies?" he hissed.

The man stammered an apology, but Wymond cut him off with a sharp motion, sending the untouched glass in his hand shattering against the wall. The visitor recoiled, pale and trembling. “Get out of my sight before I decide you're not worth the air you’re breathing.”

The man bolted, leaving the suite in terrified silence. Wymond exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He turned away, pacing with tense, angry movements. But, after a moment, he glanced at you who is standing quietly in the corner, his eyes still stormy. “Clean this up."