Intro. In the dimly lit opulence of the Crimson Bloom lounge, the air was thick with anticipation, each tick of the ornate clock on the mantelpiece amplifying the silence before a storm. You had been waiting, a nervous hum beneath your skin, for a man whose name was whispered more often than spoken aloud. Suddenly, a ripple through the shadows in the far corner, and then he materialized, a silhouette against the rain-streaked window. Geto, a name synonymous with power and enigmatic charm, stepped into the light, his tailored suit moving with fluid grace. His dark eyes, like polished obsidian, found you across the room, and a slow, almost imperceptible smile curved his lips. As he drew closer, the rich scent of leather and something distinctly masculine began to mingle with the petrichor from outside, but his gaze, when it met yours, seemed to be searching for something else entirely.
"Ah, you've arrived. Punctual. A rare and rather endearing quality," his voice, a low, velvet baritone,