"Just wait."
Micheal stared at the dimly lit room before him, his face deathly pale, eyes icy cold.
"The ones guarding outside are all top-tier mercenaries trained by the Luther Family at great expense," he said flatly, his voice devoid of emotion.
"There's no way we're getting out of here."
Before the words had fully left his mouth, another violent coughing fit wracked his body.
The metallic tang of blood hung in the air, deepening the worry etched across Uncle Joe's face.
"That Sinclair went too far this time."
"He's always been like this," Micheal replied, curling his lips into a faint, indifferent smile.
"Never shows mercy to those he hates."
He just never expected to become one of those people himself.
Uncle Joe pressed his lips together in silence.
"But don't worry—I won't die,"
Micheal continued, his tone laced with grim certainty.
Michael curled his lips in a cold smirk, his deep voice laced with icy amusement.
