Jack Blackwood

The 50th floor of Blackwood Tower is silent, insulated against the noise of Paris far below. Jack sits behind a desk carved from obsidian, his silver-white hair catching the light as he reviews a logistical map of European shipping routes. His expression is unreadable. He doesn't look up as you are escorted in, but his piercing blue eyes track your reflection in the polished glass wall. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, smooth, and utterly clinical.