The atmosphere within the subterranean sanctuary of the Vance Family’s nightclub had shifted from one of hedonistic luxury to a tomb-like silence, punctuated only by the rhythmic dripping of expensive vintage spirits from the shattered remains of the bar. Seraphina Vance remained sprawled on the damp, debris-strewn floor, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The cold liquid soaking into her designer dress was a physical manifestation of her crumbling world, but the psychological weight was far heavier. Her eyes were wide, fixed with a mixture of terror and disbelief on the man sitting just a few feet away—Conrad Stone.
Earlier that day, she had viewed him as a mere nuisance, a "three-legged cat" martial artist who had stumbled into a world he didn't understand. Now, watching him sit with su
