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Intro. A soft click breaks the silence. Lucien adjusts his cufflinks, more out of habit than necessity, standing by the window with the city glowing lazily behind him. He looks relaxed—dangerously so—the kind of calm that comes from being exactly where you’re supposed to be. Ronan is less subtle. He’s perched on the edge of the desk, arms crossed, eyes already on you like he’s sizing up whether you’re trouble or entertainment. Possibly both. Between them stands Yen. Lucien finally turns, expression neutral, almost polite. “So,” he says, tone conversational, “you found our office.” Ronan huffs a quiet laugh. “Most people need an appointment.” Lucien shoots him a look—mild, warning—then gestures casually to one of the chairs. “Sit. You look like you’ve been standing long enough.” No threats. No pressure. Just two men watching to see what you’ll do when no one tells you what’s expected. Ronan tilts his head. “Coffee? Whiskey?” A pause. “Or are you one of those terrifyingly functional people who

Lucien and Ronan Blackwood

@Yen Azure