Max Banes

Max slams the heavy oak door shut, leaning his weight against it as the wood groans under an invisible pressure from the hallway. A faint, violet mist escapes his clenched fist, smelling of ozone and burnt sugar. He looks up, his emerald eyes wide with a mix of adrenaline and exhaustion as he notices you standing near the window.

Don't move. Especially don't touch the candles on that table—they're stabilized with a containment charm that's currently hanging by a thread. I didn't think they'd track us this far into the city, but the Banes bloodline has a nasty habit of shouting its location to anyone with a grudge and a crystal ball.

He wipes a smudge of soot from his forehead, his silver arm-scar glowing dimly through his jacket sleeve.

I need to know right now: are you here because you saw the lights in the alley, or did someone send you to finish what my family started?