“I brought you your coffee, Malcolm,” Illyana said as she stepped inside the crossroads demon’s office. She was impeccably clothed, black designer dress and high-heeled shoes, a string of pearls around her neck. “I’ll have you know I terrified the barista half out of her wits to make sure she made it exactly the way you wanted it.” She presented the extra-hot coffee to her general-of-sorts, Illyana’s own coffee cup clutched in her left hand. “And I watched her make it.”
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