Viracocha's office hadn't changed.
It still looked like a pharaoh and a hedge fund manager got into a decorating contest and both won. Gold inlays curled over every column. The coffee table had gilded clawed feet. The sofa I sank into felt like it had personally attended five royal coronations.
Even the chandelier above us glittered like it was being paid to.
Tea was served by a pale-skinned Valkyrie assistant wearing gloves so pristine I was afraid to breathe near her. She set down a porcelain teacup and a plate of strawberry cake with such precision it felt like a ritual offering.
There were chocolate muffins too.
Of course there were.
I glanced at the sweet spread, half-expecting one of the dragonlings to pop out and snatch a muffin. Munchie would've loved this place. Tooth-rotting sugar heaven.
Across from me, Viracocha sat like he owned the sun.
Which… he might, at this point.
