The leader straightened his shoulders and adjusted Antonio’s shirt on his body, tugging at the fabric as if to assert dominance over it. The material clung to him in a strange way, almost as though it resisted his touch and as though it recognized that it did not belong there. However, the leader ignored it completely. His focus was elsewhere, consumed by his certainty that victory was already his.He reached into a small leather bag slung across his side and brought out a ring. It was dark and heavy. Its surface etched with unfamiliar symbols that seemed to twist and shift when viewed from certain angles. The ring absorbed the light around it, dulling the glow of the room as if shadows bent toward it. Just holding it made the leader’s pulse quicken. He could feel its weight, its promise, and his confidence surged instantly.“This is the final piece. The shirt. The ring. Power stacked upon power,” the leader said with a crooked grin, sliding the ring onto his finger with delibera

“What took you so long?” Hanson’s voice exploded through the speaker the moment the line connected.“Do you people even know how to handle a phone? I’ve been dialing your leader’s number over and over again and he’s not picking up. What the hell is wrong with him?”The man winced and pulled the phone slightly away from his ear. Hanson’s anger poured through the line without pause, loud and relentless, accusation stacked upon accusation as though Hanson had been waiting for an outlet for his frustration.“Or did you all suddenly forget how assignments work?” Hanson continued, his tone sharp and impatient. “You were given simple instructions. Simple! Get the shirt. Neutralize Antonio. Report back. Now no one is answering their phones. Are you people trying to make fools out of us?”The man tightened his jaw, his teeth grinding together. Anger surged inside him—hot, sharp, and dangerous. Hanson was yelling, making assumptions, hurling blame without asking a single question. The arrog

Hanson ended the call with Victor, his fingers trembling slightly as he slammed the phone down on the polished mahogany desk. The sharp sound echoed through the spacious office, bouncing off the walls like a final punctuation to his fury. His chest rose and fell as he struggled to steady his breathing, but the anger refused to subside. His eyes burned, fixed on nothing in particular, while his jaw tightened so hard it ached.The mission had failed—failed spectacularly.The two men who had gone to confront Antonio had returned, or rather, they hadn’t returned in one piece. Two were dead, their bodies reduced to proof of humiliation and miscalculation. Hanson pushed himself out of his chair and began to pace the length of the office, his footsteps heavy against the marble floor. Every step carried the same thought: this was not supposed to happen. The plan had been simple, precise, based on information they believed was solid. Strip Antonio of the shirt. Remove his advantage. End

The moment the Morris family’s decision was sealed, Hanson felt a strange mix of relief and anticipation settle deep in his chest. Now, at last, the arguments were over. The final vote had been cast. The Bell Mill Gang would be used. And once that path was chosen, there would be no turning back.“I’ll put the call through,” Hanson had promised them confidently before the meeting ended, his voice steady despite the tension in the room. “Leave the rest to me.”Those words still echoed in his mind as the hours passed.That same night, long after the Morris estate had gone quiet and the city of Gelrith slipped into its deceptive calm, Hanson sat alone in his private study. The corridors outside were silent and the guards reduced to distant shadows behind closed doors. The lights in the study were dim, deliberately so.Hanson preferred shadows when dealing with matters that could not survive daylight. A glass of untouched whiskey rested on the desk beside him, the amber liquid catchin

Within a short while, the night around Antonio’s residence shifted in a way that could not be explained by ordinary senses. The air itself seemed to tighten, as though the atmosphere were holding its breath. The wind crept through the trees with a colder edge, brushing against the walls of the compound in slow, whispering currents. The Bell Mill Gang completed their final preparations. Each man moved with practiced precision, their actions quiet and efficient, refined by years of dangerous operations carried out under cover of night. There was no wasted motion, no unnecessary exchange of words. They checked their gear one last time, adjusted their positions, and signaled to one another with subtle gestures. Every step had already been rehearsed in their minds long before this night arrived.Their entry into the compound was swift and nearly invisible. A fence was breached without sound. Locks were bypassed with tools that left no trace. Alarms were neutralized before they could