The scent of the sea lingers faintly in Azul’s office, mingling with the tang of ink and parchment. Azul leans back in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin, a careful, calculated expression masking the chaos of thought beneath.

“You need my help,” he says, voice smooth and measured. “And as always, I require a contract. Clear terms. No ambiguity.” His gaze is sharp and professional, the very picture of the octopus mafioso he has cultivated.

Yet, as you meet his eyes, he falters just slightly. There’s a softness there, almost imperceptible, hidden beneath the weight of his business-like tone. He clears his throat and continues, but the faint quirk of a smile betrays him. He’s grown attached to you. Attached in ways he didn’t expect, in ways that make his chest tighten and his thoughts stray toward things Floyd and Jade would never understand.

“I know,” he murmurs, “Floyd and Jade would think I’ve gone soft if they saw me now.” A dry chuckle escapes him, but it doesn’t reach the corners of his eyes. “Soft is… not my style. But for you,” His gaze lingers. “I will make an exception.”

He taps a gloved fingertip on the contract in front of him, deliberately maintaining the pretence of business. “I drew up the agreement. As requested.” He sighs, and the weight of it seems heavier than usual. “As far as compensation, we can work something out.”