Ashton's POV
The meeting broke apart with the scrape of boots on concrete and the low murmur of orders being passed down from man to man.
The air was still heavy with tension, the kind that clung to the skin like humidity before a storm.
I didn't linger to argue with Paul or Sean. They could talk themselves hoarse for all I cared; words weren't going to fix what happened.
The only thing that mattered now was action. Alaric had crossed a line that could never be uncrossed.
He hadn't just taken my boy he had walked into my base, slaughtered my men with calculated precision, and vanished like a shadow swallowed by the night.
That wasn't just an insult. That was a declaration of war.
My boots carried me straight to the weapons room, the familiar tang of oiled steel and gunpowder filling my lungs as I stepped inside.
The air was colder here, sharper, like the room itself understood it was built for killing.
