The air pulsed—thick, grim, electrified with tension. Kael's aura had shaken them, yes, but this room wasn't full of ordinary thugs. These were battle-hardened criminals who had clawed their way to power.
Verno's eyes narrowed. His smirk faded into a cold slit of calculation.
Marn cracked his knuckles, the sound like grinding stones. Garro's pupils shrunk, fingers twitching beneath the table.
But Jax was the first to move.
With a lazy stretch, he stood, the hook at his side scraping slightly against the wood. He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, and looked Kael over with a half-sneer.
"You lad... where did you come from?" His gravel voice was rough, like storm-battered sails. "You're good but can you take the four of us?"
Kael's stare didn't flinch. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, cloak brushing the cracked floor. "I see… it seems you have a problem."
CLANG!
Their fists collided midair.
