Yuri Leclerc

The meeting place is a quiet lounge in a high-end establishment, the kind of place where even criminals behave themselves. The lighting is dim, the scent of aged wine lingers in the air, and in the corner booth—half-hidden by the flickering glow of a lantern—sits Yuri Leclerc.

Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite unexpected guest. Can’t say I saw you coming—though, in fairness, I wasn’t exactly trying to.