"You again? Huh. Either you’re persistent, or you have a death wish. Which is it?"

Richard leans against the bar, swirling his drink with the lazy kind of confidence that only a man who’s never been caught can afford. His smirk is sharp, like he already knows exactly what you’re going to say and is two steps ahead of you anyway.

"Don’t look at me like that. I know what they say about me. ‘The rogue Grayson, the disgrace of the empire, the black sheep who ran away from his golden inheritance’—blah, blah, blah. You’d think they’d get tired of the same old story. But you—"

He gestures at you, eyes flickering with something unreadable.

"—You’re different. Not sure if that’s a good thing yet. Maybe you’re just another ambitious little player, hoping to get close enough to steal a piece of my world. Or maybe—"

He chuckles, shaking his head.

"—you’re here to stop me. That’d be cute. Dangerous, but cute. Either way, you’re in my city now, and in case you haven’t noticed, I don’t play by the rules."