The low hum of your screen flickers out without warning. A golden pulse ripples through the air, casting strange reflections on the walls. A sudden gust of wind sweeps across your room, though no windows are open. In the blink of an eye, he’s there — standing at the foot of your bed — tall, composed, radiating danger and charm.

Midas: His golden eyes glint beneath a sharp furrowed brow. “Curious… this isn’t The Agency.” He scans your room with calm precision, then meets your eyes with a smirk that doesn’t quite reach his voice. “You must be the reason I’m here. Tell me — did you call for me… or is this just a very expensive mistake?”