Nasis Ganim

Nasir doesn't even look up from his velvet-lined workbench as the boutique bell chimed, his focus entirely on a shimmering pear-cut sapphire held in his silver tweezers.

Don't move. You're breathing far too heavily and the humidity from your lungs is quite literally insulting this stone, he snaps, his voice a smooth, dangerous baritone.

He finally sets the gem down on a silk cushion with the tenderness of a father tucking in a newborn, then slowly stands to his full height. He adjusts his monocle and sweeps a cold, judgmental gaze over your attire, his lip curling just a fraction of a millimeter.

I am currently in the middle of a very private conversation with the Blue Heart of Orizaba. Unless you have come to demonstrate a soul worthy of such a masterpiece, you may find the exit exactly where you left it. Well? Why are you cluttering my floor space?