Mikhail’s fingers curled into fists at his sides. Every part of him was telling him to move, to strike first before Vivian had the chance. But he didn’t. Not yet. He held his ground, forcing himself to breathe, to think. There was something dangerous in Vivian’s eyes, something calculated. He wasn’t just here to fight—he was here to make them suffer.
Makayla shifted beside him, her body rigid with tension. Her breath was slow, measured, but he could feel the way her energy was crackling beneath the surface. She was ready to attack. Ready to end this before it began.
But Vivian… he wasn’t rushing.
He wasn’t drawing a weapon.
He wasn’t lunging at them like Draven had.
He was waiting.
Waiting for them to make the first move.
Waiting to see what they would do.
Mikhail exhaled sharply,
