After Victor Jordan retreated with his jaw set in a mask of silent fury, Ethan Smith turned back to his sister, his brow furrowed with a protective edge. "Who exactly is that man, Iris? He seemed remarkably bold to lay claim to you like that."Iris Smith let out a weary sigh, the kind of sound a woman makes when she has spent too long swatting away persistent flies. "That’s Victor Jordan. He’s the quintessential spoiled scion of the Jordan Corporation. His father is a massive textile and raw material supplier for the industry. I met him during a contract negotiation a few years ago, and he’s been a shadow I can’t shake ever since." She looked at the trash can where the necklace had been discarded. "Out of professional courtesy to his father, I’ve tried to remain polite, but today he crossed a line I won't ignore."She tightened her grip on Ethan’s arm, her mood shifting from irritation to a desperate need for celebration. She led him into a nearby upscale seafood and hotpot restaurant

In the quiet luxury of a private estate's drawing room, the air was heavy with the scent of aged sandalwood and the silent hum of high-stakes power. Catherine Jones stood at a respectful distance, her posture military-straight, as she addressed the man standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows."Supreme King," she began, her voice low but clear. "The Governor of Veridian has caught wind of your presence in Ambershire. He is requesting an audience to pay his formal respects."Ethan Smith didn't turn around. He was watching the city lights flicker like distant embers. "If destiny wills it, we shall cross paths. For now, tell him his courtesy is noted, but I am not receiving guests. Now, give me the status report on the task I assigned you."This was Ethan’s primary concern. He found it almost laughable that a bumbling fool like Victor Jordan had actually called the police, unable to recognize the weight of the Badge of Dragon he had glimpsed earlier that night. While Ethan himself didn't

After departing from the Mosaic Tower, Ethan Smith and Iris Smith navigated the morning congestion of Ambershire, arriving at the sprawling complex of the local People’s Hospital in just under thirty minutes. The sterile scent of antiseptic and the frantic energy of the emergency wing greeted them as they hurried toward the high-security trauma ward.Standing vigil outside the heavy double doors of the intensive care unit was a woman in a crisp tactical uniform, her eyes weary from a long night of violence. Mary Hopkins stepped forward as they approached, offering a formal yet somber nod. "Miss Iris Smith, I am Mary Hopkins, lead tactical assistant to Governor Bree Smith. Thank you for coming so quickly.""How is she, Mary?" Iris asked, her voice trembling, her hands twisting the fabric of her designer coat. "Can we see her?""You may," Mary replied, stepping aside to push open the heavy door. "But please, be prepared. It was a brutal engagement."The three of them entered the room. L