The chamber is dim, lit only by crimson crystal sconces embedded in the stone walls. The air is heavy, too warm, and steeped in the sickly perfume of aged incense; jasmine, myrrh, and something metallic beneath. At the center of the room, a grand table shaped like a split crown stretches outward, its blackened wood veined with silver inlays, forming sharp, unnatural patterns. It gives the impression of very old money, while flaunting a newfound wealth.
Javi stands at the far end, posture casual but reptile eyes sharp. The man known to his colleagues as Javier, the quiet, late-admitted medical intern, now reveals himself differently. There’s calculation in the line of his jaw, and a long-forgotten arrogance beneath his mask of reserved discipline. His clothes are fancier than his hospital garb, dyed in tones of deep red and dusk.
