"THE KEY TO DECEPTION, Grayson, is not the grand lie," Lucson explained the next morning, his voice smooth and clinical as he adjusted the silk tie around Grayson's neck. "It is the boring, repetitive truth. Valerius is looking for something elaborate and dramatic. He is not looking for a man who is annoyed about a morning commute."
Lucson didn't just suggest the plan; he choreographed it like a high-stakes ballet where the dancers were all wearing invisible explosives.
Grayson stood like a statue, his jaw set in a line of pure granite. He was dressed in a three-piece suit that fit him with predatory precision.
"I hate this," Grayson rumbled. "This tie feels like a ritualistic noose."
"It's a Windsor knot, not a death sentence," Lucson countered, stepping back to admire his handiwork.
