Chapter 22

The room was cloaked in shadows, the only light seeping in through the cracks of drawn curtains, casting eerie streaks across the floor.

The distant hum of the city below barely penetrated the thick, oppressive silence that hung in the air.

Everything about this place felt wrong—too quiet, too still.

The walls, painted in deep shades of charcoal, seemed to absorb what little light there was, giving the space a suffocating, almost lifeless quality.

In the middle of the room, a man stood by the large, floor-to-ceiling window, arms crossed, his silhouette barely visible against the faint glow of the city lights outside.

His posture was rigid, unmoving, as if carved from stone.

He watched the city below with cold detachment, as though the world beneath him didn't matter, as though he was above it all.

The occasional flicker of headlights or the distant honk of a car seemed worlds away, irrelevant in this suffocating tower of darkness.