The bar was still tense. No one moved. No one spoke. The air was thick like smoke after a fire. Mad Tiger stood dead center, a monster in human form, breathing like he’d just come off a battlefield. His hand still stained from where he’d gripped Tristan like a ragdoll. And Tristan? He was still a mess on the floor, shaking, his pride in pieces, his shirt wet from tears and spilled whiskey.Then it happened.The bar doors creaked open.CREEEAAAK.Every head turned.And in walked Davion.He didn’t storm in like a hero. He didn’t pose or flex. He just stepped into the room like the storm itself had arrived, calm but deadly, like a fuse waiting to be lit.He had his arm slung over Beverly’s shoulders for support. His shirt was wrinkled, stained with sweat and blood from old wounds that still hadn't fully healed. But his eyes? Those cold silver eyes didn’t show weakness. They showed warning.Mad Tiger stiffened.His nostrils flared.His lips curled into something between a snarl and a grin

The room was dark, lit only by the flickering light of a dying candle. Davion lay on the mattress, his breathing shallow. His side still throbbed from the last encounter, but at least the bleeding had stopped. Beverly sat beside him, her back against the wall, arms crossed, eyes barely staying open."You should sleep," Davion murmured, eyes closed."Not a chance," Beverly replied. "You're half-dead and we’ve got enemies crawling out of the shadows every five minutes."Davion smirked. "You’re getting better at this whole 'paranoid protector' thing.""Shut up and rest."There was a pause. The only sound was the wind hissing outside like it had a personal vendetta. It slapped the windows with thin branches, trying to claw its way inside.Inside, everything was still—until it wasn’t.A faint creak echoed through the hallway.Beverly's eyes snapped open. "Did you hear that?"Davion opened one eye slowly. "Yeah. Not the wind."The door exploded inward with a loud BANG."DOWN!" Davion shoute

Tink’s shop smelled like burnt wires and adrenaline. The joker card lay on the table like it was ticking. Nobody moved.Davion leaned against the wall, hiding in the shadowy corner behind a metal shelf full of half-built death machines. His ribs screamed every time he breathed, but he kept quiet. He had to.Beverly was crouched behind an overturned workbench, stun dagger in one hand, the other gripping Wesley’s hoodie because he would try something dumb if she didn’t keep him grounded.“I swear,” she whispered, “if you sneeze, I’m stabbing you, dad and I will apologise later."Wesley whispered back, “That’s not how healing works—”“Shhh!”Footsteps. Slow. Confident. Heavy boots on concrete. The kind that made you feel like the floor itself was flinching.Tink didn’t flinch. Of course she didn’t.She stood smack in the middle of the shop, goggles down over her eyes, a wrench casually spinning in her fingers. Like she wasn’t facing a walking murder tornado.The door swung fully open.He

Davion sat hunched, wrists burning from the too-tight cuffs, body jostling with every bump in the road like a damn ragdoll. The city passed by in a blur of lights and shadows, but Davion couldn’t focus on any of it. Not when the air inside the van was so heavy it felt like it was sitting on his chest.Something was off.The two cops riding with him hadn’t said a word since they left the house. No radio chatter. No questions. No Miranda rights, even. Just blank stares and creepy silence. The kind that made your skin crawl.Davion watched them carefully. The younger one, sitting across from him, kept fiddling with something inside his jacket—too twitchy, too jumpy. The older one glanced up in the rearview mirror, his eyes locking with Davion’s.Cold. Empty. Like he was already planning where to bury the body.Davion swallowed hard. “So… no one’s gonna tell me why this feels like a low-budget horror movie?”No response.The younger cop smiled, and it wasn’t a friendly kind of smile. It w

The sound of porcelain shattering echoed through the grand foyer of the Wesley estate like a gunshot, bouncing off the high ceilings and polished marble floors.Wesley stood rigid at the base of the sweeping staircase, fists clenched at his sides, his broad shoulders rising and falling with barely contained fury. “What the fucking hell were you thinking, Margaret?”At the top of the stairs, Margaret descended slowly, her silk robe trailing behind her like royalty, her heels tapping in measured rhythm.She glanced at the shattered teacup without emotion, her perfectly arched brow lifting as though it were a minor inconvenience. “Lower your voice, Wesley. The staff doesn’t need to hear our family business.”Wesley’s eyes narrowed. “Our family business?” he barked, stepping toward her, the polished oak creaking underfoot. “You called the damn police on Davion! On our daughter’s—” He stopped himself, jaw twitching. “You endangered him.”Margaret tilted her chin. “He endangered her, Wesley