A slow, mocking clap echoed behind me, thin and deliberate.
“Well, well… if it isn’t Kael George.”
My body tightened before my brain finished the name. I spun on instinct, fists already curling into readiness. The room seemed to shrink around him. Alistair — immaculate suit, arrogant smirk, the kind of man who could order violence and still not muss a cuff — filled the doorway like he owned the air itself.
“Haven’t you learned your lesson?” I spat, voice low.
He laughed, something without warmth. “Lesson?” He tilted his head, eyes cold as glass. “Kael, last time… you got lucky.” He let the words sit, then flicked a finger toward the three men in black who’d moved like shadows around the room. “But today? Luck won’t save you.”
He pointed them out one by one as if introducing prized hun
