Patrick’s finger stayed pointed at the passenger door, and Evans hated how calm he looked.The red light still held them in place, trapping them in a line of cars and impatience. Horns didn’t blare, but the hum of engines felt like pressure in Evans’s chest. His eyes were still gold, his Primordius was awake, and that glow made the cabin feel smaller than it was.“You’re telling me to leave,” Evans said, voice low.Patrick didn’t look away from the road. “I’m telling you to make a choice,” he replied. “You said you feel used. So step out.”Evans swallowed. “And you’ll just drive off.”Patrick’s jaw tightened once, then relaxed. “Yes,” he said. “Because I don’t beg people to stay near me.”Evans stared at the handle again. His hand hovered near it, not trembling, but tense. He imagined opening the door, walking into the night, letting the street swallow him. For a second, pride tried to push him forward.Then reality pushed back harder.Evans’s mind flashed to Drakarion patrol units,

The senior enforcer’s shock did not look like respect. It looked like fear.“Oh sir… it’s you!” he gasped, stepping back so fast his boot scraped the gravel. His two younger men followed his movement without thinking, their hands leaving their weapons as if touching their guns around Mr Patrick Johnson was a mistake.Patrick didn’t smile. He didn’t enjoy it. He only nodded once, like he had heard this reaction too many times to count.“Open the gate and let us in,” Patrick said calmly.“Yes, sir. Immediately,” the enforcer replied. He snapped his fingers, and the gatehouse lights blinked. Metal locks clicked and released in sequence. The tall black steel gates slid apart with a smooth, expensive hum.Evans stood beside Patrick, his cap low, his moustache still in place. He watched the cameras turn as the gates opened. They moved too cleanly, like this place was built to never be surprised.“You didn’t tell me they’d recognize you,” Evans murmured.Mr Patrick kept walking. “You didn

Silas Blackridge'’s eyebrows stayed lifted in perfect fake surprise. His smile was still there, smooth and warm, like the murder minutes ago was a detail the room had already forgotten.“What money?” he asked again, voice mild. “You walk into my house, drink my wine, and start talking like I owe you something.”Patrick didn’t blink. He didn’t lean forward. He didn’t raise his voice. He simply looked at Silas the way a man looks at a locked door he already has the key for.“You owe me seven point six million dollars,” Patrick said. “Not a rumor. Not a story. A debt.”Silas let out a soft laugh, like Patrick had told a joke at the wrong time. “That number is impressive,” he said. “But you’re saying it like I’m your bank.”Patrick’s cane rested against his knee. His fingers were relaxed, but his eyes were hard. “You called me about three months ago,” he said. “You asked for funding. You said you had a private deal that needed quick capital. You promised returns with interest.”Silas tilt

“You must follow the code of conduct,” Patrick said, with a voice that was calm and hard. “I didn’t give you that money out of charity.”Silas Blackridge leaned back in his chair, the crystal glass was loose in his fingers. The room still smelled faintly of gunpowder under the expensive perfume, like the walls themselves had learned to hide violence. His guards stood in the corners like shadows that could move. The wiped floor looked clean, but Evans could still see where blood had been a few minutes ago.Silas smiled. “Code of conduct?” he repeated. “You’re talking to me like I’m a clerk at a bank.”Patrick didn’t smile back. “I’m talking to you like a man who took my money,” he replied. “And now you’re trying to keep it.”Silas’s eyes narrowed, then softened again into that lazy arrogance. “Trying?” he said. “Patrick, you’re confused. I’m not trying to do anything. I’m simply deciding.”Evans stayed still beside Patrick, posture straight. His cap sat low, moustache firm, face contr

Patrick didn’t answer. He didn’t look proud either. He only said, “Now.”Evans felt the Primordius inside him rise like a heavy door opening. Heat spread under his skin, not wild, not out of control. It was controlled pressure. Battle instinct.His skin hardened in layers he couldn’t see but could feel. Dragon Scales. The room seemed to shrink around him.A guard with a machete cursed and rushed at him anyway. “Die!”The blade slashed at Evans’s arm.The machete screeched, as if it had struck metal. Sparks jumped, and the guard stumbled back, staring at the blade edge.Evans exhaled once. “Put it down.”The guard’s eyes widened. “What are you?”Evans didn’t answer.He lifted his hand and shoved the man’s chest with one calm push.The guard flew backward into a pillar and dropped with a groan.Two more came in from the side, one with a baton, one with a short iron rod. They swung together, like they had practiced it.Evans took both hits.Nothing happened.The men stared, then swung ag