In the moonlit halls of the Governor's estate, Harry and John Constantine stepped through a curved archway into a sunroom. Despite the lack of sunlight, the room shimmered with the silvery glow of moonlight filtering through tall windows. John's eyes quickly landed on a family portrait hung prominently on the wall. The painting depicted a striking couple with their young daughter, her curls a gray-green cascade as she perched cheerfully on her father’s knee. Her vivid, lively eyes mirrored her mother’s, lending the scene an unsettling sense of life. A polite but firm voice broke the silence. “Weapons, please.”

Two guards approached with professional precision. The elder of the two inclined his head, softening the demand. Harry, with a practiced air, handed over his holstered weapon without hesitation, his expression one of weary familiarity.

John followed suit, unhooking his bolter with a shrug before surrendering a pair of compact laser pistols hidden beneath his coat. The lead guard accepted them, nodding in thanks, and passed them to his partner. A scanning device was produced next, its faint hum cutting through the quiet. “Standard protocol, sir. We’ll need to scan your implants,” the guard said, holding the scanner ready.

“Of course,” John replied smoothly, raising his arms in mock surrender, a sly grin playing on his lips.

The guard’s device emitted a faint beep. He frowned, scrutinizing the screen. “Some of these implants aren’t registering. Care to explain?”

John leaned forward slightly, his grin widening into something conspiratorial. “Ah, maybe the materials are exotic? Or—” He gestured downward with exaggerated nonchalance. “Maybe you’re not scanning the right spot?”

The guard remained stoic. “We’ll need a more thorough inspection. Please come with us.”

Before John could move, a voice as smooth as fine amasec interrupted. “That won’t be necessary, Captain.”

All eyes turned toward the grand staircase, where Ravel Caen descended with a disarming smile. His tailored black dress suit and the silver serpent-and-rose pin on his lapel marked him unmistakably as the planetary governor. The guards stiffened before stepping aside, their deference immediate. Ravel extended a hand toward John, who clasped it without hesitation.

“John Constantine,” Ravel said warmly. “I’ve heard much about you. I trust you know who I am?”

John’s smile sharpened. “Governor Ravel Caen. The pleasure’s mine.”

Ravel’s gaze flicked toward the ornate tray nearby, its contents including the distinctive serpent-and-rose emblem. He dismissed the guards with a lazy wave before turning to Harry. “Brother Harry, as always, thank you for your diligence. Now, if you’ll excuse us, I have private matters to discuss with Mr. Constantine.”

Harry’s bow was stiff, his dislike poorly veiled. He departed without a word, his heavy footsteps fading into the distance. Ravel chuckled softly as he watched. “Brother Harry doesn’t care for me. Understandable—life in the underhives breeds a healthy skepticism of authority.”

His attention shifted back to John, his smile never faltering. “But you, Mr. Constantine—what’s your opinion of me?”

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John tilted his head, pretending to consider. “A man who’s mastered power games. Just like any competent planetary governor.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Ravel replied, clapping him on the shoulder. “Walk with me.”

Ravel led John through a set of ornate double doors and down a spiral staircase to a private garden bathed in moonlight. The grounds were immaculate, a showcase of cultivated beauty. Every flower, every stone seemed curated for perfection, a reflection of the governor’s fastidious control.

“What do you know about me, Mr. Constantine?” Ravel asked, running a hand along the leaves of a flowering shrub.

“Enough to know you came to power through a coup,” John said without hesitation. “The official story blames Chaos cultists for your brother’s death. I imagine the truth is less theatrical.”

Ravel’s laugh was deep and genuine. “You’re perceptive. No, my brother’s death was a necessary end, brought about by his own shortsightedness. He never saw the knife coming.”

They stopped in a moonlit pavilion, and Ravel’s smile grew calculating. “But enough about me. What troubles me is that I don’t know who you really are. That’s… unusual.”

John clasped his hands behind his back, maintaining a calm demeanor. “Trust isn’t a currency we deal in, Governor. But our goals align, don’t they?”

Ravel’s hand drifted to his belt, producing an ornate laser pistol. He leveled it at John’s chest, his expression unreadable. “Trust may be scarce, but where it’s absent, precautions must be taken.”

John didn’t flinch. His grin returned, sharper this time. “Or,” he said lightly, “we focus on the gains of collaboration. You’re ambitious. So am I. Together, we could achieve far more than we could apart.”

Ravel studied him for a long moment, the silence stretching between them. Finally, he lowered the weapon, his smile returning. “You’re right. A dangerous alliance it is.”

“For now,” John added, his tone edged with dark amusement.

John walked on the clean, tidy and spacious sidewalks. Even the non-main roads are so spacious. It is obvious that people here like to show off very much and show off their status all the time and everywhere. A

Angel street lamps illuminate the street. The ground here reflects a little bit of luster. It is obviously paved with a marble-like material. If nothing else, it must be very valuable.

John's boots clicked on the pavement, making the deserted street clatter. John's boots seemed to be forever inlaid with silver iron plates. Those layers of armor-like stripes covered the front half of the boots, as if It's like the tip of a spear. He walked across the street and turned into a small urban garden at the end of the street. Like I said, the greenery here is ridiculously good, with parks of all sizes everywhere.

John walked into the archway of the park, and then stopped. He looked at the girl in the garden, beside the fountain that was spitting water.

Her gray-green hair was slightly curled, and her slender and smooth hair rested on her shoulders. It was obvious that she had been carefully taken care of and prepared like her outfit.

The long skirt shimmers with starlight, and is as beautiful as the Milky Way itself under the illumination of the street lights in the dark night. The concave and convex body curves are like a perfect artistic statue.

The neckline of the dress spread out from her chest like angel wings. The pair of perfect human body miracles, displayed under the elegant background, are enough to make any man salivate, not to mention the side-slit skirt. , under the moonlight and night lights, she seemed to have stepped out of a painting. Well, seriously, why is this bastard John Constantin

John grinned and strolled over, clapping his hands together like he was commanding an audience. Silver Snake—or Jenny, as she preferred to be called when not using her “super cool” alias—noticed him immediately. She turned, fixing her captivating eyes on him, her head tilted just enough to seem casually alluring.

She’d already discarded her outerwear, and now stood there in her sparkling attire, her posture somehow managing to convey both elegance and mischief. John, on the other hand, was still decked out in his trench coat, weapons hidden just enough to make you question if he’d ever leave home without them. “Oh, darling, I’ve traveled half the galaxy, and I must say, eyebrows like yours are rare gems indeed,” John declared with a smirk that practically dripped charm—or something resembling it.