As we step into the room, I feel my breath catch in my throat, my eyes widening in shock and disbelief. The space is vast and opulent, a far cry from the spartan, utilitarian buildings that I've grown accustomed to in the years since the outbreak.
The walls are paneled in rich, dark wood, the grain gleaming softly in the warm light that spills from the crystal chandeliers overhead. The floor is covered in a plush, intricately patterned carpet, the fibers soft and yielding beneath my feet.
But it's the furnishings that truly take my breath away. Every surface is adorned with the trappings of wealth and power, from the gilt-framed paintings that line the walls to the antique vases and sculptures that stand in carefully arranged clusters throughout the room.
And there, in the center of it all, is the reason for our visit, the man who has haunted my thoughts and dreams for longer than I can remember.
Hwang.
