Carter Morgan was approaching fifty. The brown, curly hair on his head was visibly thinning, but still combed immaculately, curling over his pink scalp.
Just as Fu Tailan had expected, every move he made exuded the unhurried ease of someone for whom privilege had become a habit—and he was well aware that his status set him apart.
Perhaps it was this self-awareness that made Carter's affability and enthusiasm seem somewhat superficial and slick. It was as if this warmth he projected was a well-practiced routine, one that felt both ill-fitting and overly familiar.
"I've heard so much about you,"
he said the moment he saw Fu Tailan. Unlike most people, he didn't even flinch. As Carter stood up, his face held just the right amount of admiration. "I've been wanting to meet Blackmoor City's finest Hunter for a long time. Now that my wish has been granted, this trip has already been worthwhile."
