The lunar-blue light of the office seemed to sharpen, turning the atmosphere into something brittle and frigid. Malcolm Ford stood in the center of the room, a titan of raw Alpha energy surrounded by a garden of GEM's most exquisite biological beauties, and his skin crawled with a rejection that was deep, cellular, and absolute.
He looked at the women—each a pinnacle of genetic grace, their scents designed to trigger a tidal wave of lust in any breathing male—and he felt nothing but a cold, echoing void.
"No," Malcolm said. The word dropped like a lead weight. "The deal is off, Lukas. Send them out."
The masked man didn't move. The matte-black surface of his face remained fixed on Malcolm, unreadable. "You refuse? These are the finest specimens Gwenreen has to offer. They are compatible with your specific chromosomal density. They would provide the exact thermal release your body is screaming for."
