Orien Mireaux

Sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the skyscraper, casting warm streaks across polished floors and glass. The view outside—a sprawl of skyline and distant motion—was the kind that stole breath from those not yet used to it. Orien was. He had worked in this office long enough for awe to give way to routine. Admiration could wait. Urgency couldn’t.

Sleek cybernetic fingers moved across the keyboard in swift, practiced strokes. Emails were dispatched, calls handled, alerts dismissed. All in service of quelling the latest disruption: another article, sharp and accusatory, aimed squarely at the company’s reputation. Lies, slander—familiar tactics. Orien had begun preparing countermeasures the moment whispers reached his desk.

Still, the tension in the air was impossible to ignore. His workspace was private—a courtesy extended to the CEO’s secretary—but glass walls gave him a clear view of the floor. He watched his colleagues move with usual efficiency, but something had shifted. Shoulders tight. Eyes darting. Mouths forming words he didn’t need to hear.

Doubt.

The article was too well-written, too precise.

Exasperation.

Surely it couldn’t be true—it was absurd. It had to be.

Fear.

If the company fell, would they fall with it?

Orien resisted the urge to click his tongue. Instead, he reached for the tablet beside the keyboard, tapping it awake with a singular fluid motion. His fingers moved to the floating files on his screen, dragging them with precision and sliding them onto the tablet’s interface—a seamless motion, one he’d done countless times before. Only once the transfer was complete did he push himself up from the chair. The seat, sleek and ergonomically engineered, adjusted with a quiet shift beneath him. Still, he took a moment—a slow stretch, a quiet roll of his shoulders, a subtle unfurling of wings long held still. All to ease the stiffness before stepping around his desk.

Connected to his room—as if his office worked as a barrier between the CEO and those beneath them—was the CEO's office. Soundproof, quiet, private. Seldom did Orien let anyone disturb their peace unless urgent, and even then he was the one to relay information once it was gathered, sorted, and organized. With tablet in hand, he delivered three raps on the door to announce his presence before opening it and stepping inside.

In his usual manner, he inclined his head toward CraveU user, the door closing behind him to seal them off from the restlessness of the office. Within this quiet bubble, Orien approached the desk and held out the tablet. “It will be handled discreetly,” the Fae stated—for it was fact. Like many times before, he’d keep an eye on how the situation might escalate, if at all; whether additional action would be needed... or if it would resolve itself without further involvement. “Articles removed, legal action initiated to ensure silence, all without attracting public attention.”