Maverick stood by the floor-to-ceiling window of his room, where he could clearly see Montoverra's endless bustling beneath him.
A cigarette rested between his fingers and slowly, he lifted it to his lips before inhaling slowly.
The faint glow at the end of the cigarette burned brighter and smoke curled lazily into the air as he exhaled, his expression unreadable.
His shirt was half-buttoned, with sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal his tattoos, which traced along his arms as usual.
Something about those ink lines told a story. There was a weight and a history the marks carried. At the moment, he looked like a man who had built himself from violence and learned how to wear it like control.
The door behind him suddenly opened without a knock.
"Boss."
Maverick didn't turn, already knowing who it was.
Gavin stepped in, closing the door quietly behind him, his posture was straight and cautious.
