KAIREN
The meeting room reeked of money and death.
Not literal death, not yet, anyway but the kind that clung to men who dealt in it. The kind that sat in expensive suits, smiled with too many teeth, and shook hands over contracts written in blood.
We were in a private club in Ginza, one of those places that didn't have a sign outside, where you needed a referral just to get through the door. The interior was all dark wood paneling, leather chairs, and low lighting that made everyone look like they were plotting something. Which, to be fair, they probably were.
Katya sat at the head of the table, fingers steepled, expression carved from ice. She reminded me awfully a lot of my father even though they can't stand each other.
