The air thickens with a presence I don’t recognize. A shift. A distortion. And then—he’s just there.
Zero.
A man, a shadow, a force of precision. He doesn’t move like a person; he moves like an inevitability. His sleek black suit fits like a second skin, his silver hair an eerie contrast to the darkness swallowing him. But it’s his eyes that pin me down—empty, unfeeling. Like they’ve already seen everything I’m about to do.
I barely register the shift in my muscles before my body is already reacting—ducking, pivoting, lunging. Instinct. Training. Survival.
My fist flies toward his ribs. It doesn’t connect.
Zero doesn’t dodge. He simply isn’t there anymore. Like he moved before I even thought to strike.
A c***k of pain explodes in my ribs before my brain catches up to the fact that he
