Later that evening…
Within the towering office building, the busy beats of footsteps and clicks of keyboards echoed through each floor, amongst the light chatter of staff and employees.
But on the highest floor — the name "Clark" carved on the golden-plated door — the spacious luxury office was filled with eerie silence and dread.
On the central sofa circled round the glass coffee table, Drogo sat with his gaze locked on the sheets spread across the crystal surface.
His fingers clenched tightly on the folder within his grasp as he read the bolded words within the paragraph.
"The Progeny Weaponisation Project…"
"PWP," Damien stated as a matter of fact, pushing his back off the pillar he was resting against.
