Settling into the main hall, I noticed the tension had swallowed the house whole.
Rhys was back—coat still on, jaw tight. Rhett stood across from him, hands shoved into his pockets like he was restraining himself from throwing a punch. Mrs. Gunner was in the middle, that eerie calm that always came before a storm.
“Someone hit the shipment,” Rhett said flatly. “Three trucks. Gone.”
My breath froze in time.
Rhys’s voice was sharp. “And guess who left a calling card.”
Rhett didn’t answer, but the name slid through the air like a knife. The Monarch.
Reed joined us quietly, his expression unreadable. “He’s not testing us anymore,” he said.
Rhys nodded grimly. “He’s drawing blood.”
“Where?” Mrs. Gunner demanded.
“By the docks. Two guards down. No survivors,” Rhys said. “Gilda called an
