A Finger Against the World
The three rulers of Fantom City's underworld were now face to face with Victor.
The air inside the western district's abandoned hall felt thick, heavy with dust and the faint scent of iron. Lanternlight trembled against cracked walls, shadows bending and stretching like nervous spectators waiting for judgment. Outside, the city murmured in the distance, unaware that its balance of power was tilting.
They stared at the very handsome young man before them, each harboring different thoughts, different fears.
Gian—known in whispers as Night—felt something close to vertigo. He had built his reputation in silence, in darkness. Assassins lived by instinct, and his instincts were screaming.
Brinda, who had been subdued by Lane's sudden spell, stood rigid, shivering ever so slightly. Her long purple hair spilled over her shoulders, her violet eyes wide—not with wounded pride, but with raw caution.
