None of the people there dared to question Zyren or even hesitate, all of them painfully aware of the kind of person he was. Even if he hadn't killed anyone recently, his reputation preceded him in a way that made it hard—nearly impossible—for any of them to even think of daring him. His presence was a blade held at the throat of the room: silent, gleaming, and promising consequences for the foolish.
Chairs scraped against the floor in a frantic chorus. Doors opened and closed in quick succession. No one lingered, no one looked back. In less than a minute, silence swallowed the room whole, thick as smoke.
It took barely a few minutes before the hall became completely empty with the door closed and shut. The hollow thud of the latch echoed longer than it should have, as though the room itself understood that something irreversible had begun.
The moment the latch clicked, the energy around Zyren shifted—sharper, heavier, like a predator finally unchained.
