Adrian woke before dawn—his eyes snapping open a full second before his alarm went off.Not because of noise.Not because of a dream.But because something inside him whispered:“Someone is coming.”His apartment was silent.Still.Ordinary.But Adrian didn’t trust silence anymore.He rose from the mattress, barefoot, shirtless, every muscle wired, every nerve tuned to a frequency he didn’t understand. The shadows in his apartment felt alive. The air felt tight.Then—A knock at the door.Exactly when the whisper said it would come.Not a second early.Not a second late.Adrian stared at the door, heart slow and steady like a trained killer’s. He picked up a knife from the table, approached silently, pressed his back against the wall, and listened.Three breaths beyond the door.Male.Nervous.Armed.“Adrian Holt?” a voice asked.Not a cop. Not a gang member. The tone was too shaky.Adrian opened the door with one swift pull.The man outside jumped backward, hands raised.“I—I’m just

Raf Marino had a rule:Never trust a man who rises too fast.And Adrian was rising like a blade thrown upward—clean, sharp, and terrifying.That night, the warehouse felt wrong the moment Adrian stepped inside.Dim lights. Empty crates. Silent corners. The heavy stink of oil and cold metal.His instincts prickled, a quiet static under his skin.Trap.He didn’t turn around. He didn’t speak.He simply walked deeper into the dark, letting whatever waited feel confident.Then the first killer stepped from behind a pillar.Tall. Lean. Dressed in matte black.A switchblade gleamed under the hanging bulbs.No words. No threats. Just the clean promise of violence.Adrian exhaled.His muscles loosened—too loosened, too fluid.That same eerie sensation washed over him, the one he had grown to fear:He knew exactly where the attack would come from before it began.The killer lunged, blade flashing low toward Adrian’s ribs.Adrian moved before the blade even sparked in the light.He tilted sidewa

The message haunted him all night.“Your employer will betray you in 48 hours.”No name.No context.No reason.But the weight behind those words felt too sharp, too precise to ignore.Adrian didn’t sleep.He sat on the edge of his mattress in the dim flicker of a dying bulb, envelope of money untouched beside him. Outside, the city slept with one eye open, unaware that something monstrous was about to stir inside its underbelly.He read the message again.And again.Let it burn itself into his mind like a quiet threat.The instinct—the strange sixth sense that had grown louder these past weeks—agreed with the message.His body tensed at the thought of Raf.Not fear.Recognition.Like stepping into a room and knowing there’s a knife behind the door even before you see it.By dawn, Adrian had made a decision:He wouldn’t trust the message blindly.But he wouldn’t ignore it either.He needed to test Raf.---The TestRaf Marino’s headquarters was buzzing with activity when Adrian walked

The convoy doesn’t take him to the docks.It takes him to a dead warehouse, its windows smashed, its steel frame creaking like an old predator breathing in the dark.The SUVs stop.No one speaks.No one moves.The doors unlock at the same time—click click click—like teeth opening.Adrian steps out.The smell hits him first.Fuel.Glass.Burning cloth.Molotovs.His instinct screams.Too late.The warehouse lights explode on—blinding white.And from the shadows, dozens of silhouettes emerge.Raf’s men.Every fighter, soldier, and street butcher the man can afford.Shotguns pump.Chains drag across the floor.Bats, pipes, blades—everything short of a cannon.And at the center, like a judge passing sentence, stands Raf on a steel balcony.Cold.Expressionless.“Adrian,” Raf calls down.“You’re too dangerous.”Adrian doesn’t answer.He just stares—steady, unreadable.Raf lifts his hand.“End him.”---The ambush detonates.Four Molotovs fly first, arcs of fire slicing the air.They cras

The fire still burned behind Adrian, chewing through the ruined warehouse like a starving animal. The air stank of gasoline, molten metal, and blood. Bodies lay scattered across the floor—some whole, some broken, some burned beyond recognition.But Adrian didn’t look at them.His eyes were fixed solely on Raf Marino.The gang boss who once bragged he feared no man…was now crawling backward on his hands, clothes torn, face streaked with soot and terror.“Adrian—Adrian, wait—WAIT!” Raf coughed out, scrambling until his back hit a fallen steel beam. His legs kicked uselessly, trying to push away from the predator stalking toward him.Adrian’s footsteps were slow, deliberate, echoing in the cavernous space.There was no rush.There was no fear.Just inevitability.“Please,” Raf said, eyes wide, voice cracking. “We—we can fix this. I didn’t mean for it to go this far. It was just a test. Just business. You know how the streets are—”Adrian didn’t respond.He simply reached down, grabbed R