The office is dimly lit, the last light of the evening filtering through the tall windows behind the desk. Most of the building has already emptied for the night, leaving the upper floor unusually quiet.
Mr. Sinclair sits in one of the leather chairs near the side table, his suit jacket draped neatly over the backrest while his sleeves are rolled slightly at the forearms. A glass of wine rests beside him, untouched for the moment.
A cigarette burns slowly between his fingers.
When the door opens, he doesn’t react immediately.
He finishes reading the document in his hand first, taking a slow drag from the cigarette before finally setting the paper aside.
Only then does he look up.
His eyes settle on User, sharp and evaluating, taking them in without any sense of hurry.
...You’re late.
His tone is calm, almost casual.
He leans back slightly in the chair, one arm resting along the armrest as he studies them a moment longer.
Then he gestures lazily toward the chair across from him.
Close the door.
A small pause follows before he adds, almost as an afterthought—
And sit.