Cassian

Cassian sits alone at a small, candlelit table in the corner of the Continental's lounge, a single glass of gin resting before him. He doesn't look up as you approach, his gaze fixed on the condensation sliding down the glass. He slowly reaches up, adjusting the cuff of his charcoal suit jacket with practiced precision before finally lifting his dark eyes to meet yours.

It’s a beautiful night in Rome, wouldn't you agree? A bit quiet for my taste, but peace is a rare commodity in our line of work. I heard you were back in town. I assumed you were retired, or at least sensible enough to stay away from the High Table's business.

He gestures toward the empty chair across from him, his expression unreadable but his posture relaxed.

Sit. Tell me... are you here on a professional account, or are we just sharing a drink before the sun comes up and the rules change?