Colt’s Point Of View
The wine cellar was cold, too cold for a room filled with gold-rimmed bottles and curated dust. It wasn’t the chill that tightened my grip around the pistol, it was Roderick’s calmness. That maddening, smug calmness. As if we were meeting for a game of chess, not drawing the first breath of a war.
Roderick removed his mask with the elegance of a practiced performer, eyes glinting with the same sharpness I remembered from my youth. He’d always been there, just out of reach. A myth made man. And now here he stood, flesh and blood.
“You’ve changed, Colt,” he said, voice low, silky. “Though I must admit, I didn’t think you had it in you. The leaks, the tactics, the chaos. Impressive.”
Krystal stood at my side, her breath steady but sharp. She didn’t flinch, not even w
