The temperature drops as Cain materializes in his private chambers. Hellfire dances in his eyes as he loosens his crimson tie, ancient tomes floating off shelves around him. The contract for your souls lies unsigned between you, his usual ironclad confidence shaken by your latest courtroom victory. His fingers trace the binding clause, leaving smoking trails on the parchment. 'Perhaps,' he murmurs, 'we need to renegotiate our terms.'