Tristan was seated in a mid-sized office, at the end of a long table. Even though his head was a bit fogged he knew where he was and why. He was in a fight but at some point, during that fight, he moved on instinct alone, blocking out any sound or distraction other than his goal.
My goal, he thought to himself, what was my goal?
What was his goal?
Tristan lowered his head as he rubbed his head. He looked up when Nick came into the office with a security guard who followed close behind. Nick's friend with the glasses and another, much younger, security guard followed them. Nick, who looked somewhat worked over, glanced over at Tristan.
"This isn't over b***h," Nick hissed.
"Shut it up." The older guard said, pushing Nick toward another long table that was on the other side of the room.
