In a secluded part of the city, nestled behind iron gates and thick, towering walls, stood a private estate known to only a few. Inside one of the main buildings—grand yet deliberately plain to the untrained eye—was a large, dimly lit room with a round mahogany table centered beneath a hanging chandelier. The table bore ten chairs, though only four were occupied.
Each man around the table wore an expression carved from stone. Their suits were sharp, their eyes sharper. The air in the room was tight with tension, the kind that brewed when money, power, and blood were tangled too deep to undo.
"Our stocks are crashing," one of them said flatly. "And if this continues, we'll lose leverage in the East Wing territories."
Another leaned forward. "It's not just the stocks. The operation to extract information on Dominus Nocturne has failed. Black Bullet and his crew came up with nothing. They kidnapped a girl… and still came up empty."
A third man sneered. "Not just any girl. The one he came for himself."
The room went still.
He.
They all knew who "he" meant. No one dared say his name, but the weight of his presence hung over the table like a storm cloud.
"The girl must be important," the man continued. "The fact that Julian Carter—the man who doesn't care if the world burns around him—showed up himself to get her? That says something."
"She's a key," someone agreed coldly. "He wouldn't lift a finger for anyone unless they mattered to him or to the family. We need eyes on her. She must be protected… if she holds information valuable enough for him to move, then she's worth more than we thought."
There were nods around the table. No questions. No debate.
Then someone shifted the topic. "What of Black Bullet and his failure?"
A dry chuckle. "His crew is already gone. Wiped out that night. He's the only one left."
"He should be dealt with. Permanently."
The doors creaked open.
Black Bullet stumbled in—wounded pride written all over him, but his tone was desperate and low. "Please… grant me one more chance. I swear I'll make this right. I'll bring the girl back… I'll do whatever it takes to get you the information you need."
The panel stared, silent and unimpressed. One of them spoke, "You had your chance."
"I know," Bullet interrupted, dropping to his knees. "But now they'll be alert. Julian has already made his move. I need time to plan this properly—please. Just one more chance."
The panel deliberated again. Quiet murmurs passed between them.
Someone finally asked, "How much time do you need?"
"Three months."
"No."
"Please—"
"One month."
"It won't be enough. Not if I'm to outsmart him. I need at least two. Just two."
A heavy silence.
Then a final voice: "Fine. Two months. No more. Deliver results or your bones will feed the river."
Bullet bowed deeply. "Thank you. I won't fail."
As he turned to leave, one of the men at the table tilted his head ever so slightly. A figure stepped out from the shadows—tall, cloaked in black, face hidden beneath a hood.
The man at the table whispered, "If he fails… eliminate him. No hesitation."
The cloaked man bowed once… and vanished.