Luke's office was a whirlwind of organized chaos.
The sleek glass walls of his penthouse suite framed a breathtaking view of Neo-Luminara's skyline, where the first twinkling lights of evening began to dance against the darkening sky.
His desk, a slab of blackened steel salvaged from a failed drone prototype, was strewn with half-disassembled gadgets, a cold cup of coffee, and three holographic displays frozen mid-calculation.
Luke himself lounged on a custom-made leather couch, one arm draped over his eyes, his shirtsleeves rolled up past his elbows in a casual defiance against formality.
A sharp knock at the door broke through the haze.
"Come in, Selene," he called without lifting his arm.
The door hissed open, and Selene Vasari stepped inside, her heels clicking rhythmically against the polished concrete floor.
Dressed in her signature tailored navy suit with her dark hair pulled back into a no-nonsense ponytail, she held a tablet tightly in one hand.
