Aaron
“Relax, Aaron. I’m just here to talk.”
Zion’s voice drips with nonchalance, but I can hear the calculated undertone. It always accompanies him like an invisible shadow, a telltale sign that he’s already several steps ahead, laying groundwork for whatever game he plans to play. He strides into my office, radiating confidence, his tailored suit immaculate and his movements deliberate, as if he owns the space.
I don’t respond right away, my hands resting on my desk as I study him. Zion has always had a way of commanding attention without demanding it—a subtle magnetism that unnerves even those who don’t know him well. I, on the other hand, know him too well.
He lowers himself into the chair across from me, uninvited, his smirk lazy yet sharp, the corners of his lips twitching
