Elijah
The warehouse feels heavier this time. Not louder. Not more chaotic.
Just… worn.
Like everything that’s happened tonight has settled into the walls, into the floor, into the men standing around it, and no one has quite shaken it off yet.
I see it the second I walk in.
Christian.
Lucian.
Killian.
And the rest of the men scattered through the space, some standing, some leaning, some moving with that quiet, contained efficiency that tells me this isn’t over, not even close.
Christian looks tired.
Not weak.
Not shaken.
Just… worn down in a way I don’t think I’ve ever seen on him before. Lucian is the opposite. Still sharp. Still watching everything. Still calculating.
Killian’s presence sits somewhere in between, solid, grounded, but alert, like he’s waiting for whatever comes next.
I step fully into the space, the noise dipping just slightly as a few of the men clock me.
“What happened?” I ask, my voice low, controlled, but edged with something I don’t bother to hide.
Christian drags a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly.
“We pushed them back,” he says. “They hit hard, but we held the line.”
My jaw tightens.
“And?”
He doesn’t soften it.
“We lost a couple of our men.”
The words land. Heavy. Real. Lucian steps in before the silence stretches too long.
“Took some of theirs with us,” he adds. “But it didn’t last long.”
“Cops showed up,” Killian finishes, his voice rougher, grounded. “Had to shut it down before it turned into something bigger.”
My gaze shifts across the warehouse again. The aftermath is there if you know where to look. The tension. The restraint. The fact that this isn’t finished. It’s just paused. Christian checks his watch, his expression tightening slightly.
“This,” he says, glancing up at me, “has escalated things.”
Of course it has.
“Blacklight’s stepping in,” he continues. “Public shooting like that? They don’t let that sit.”
My chest tightens slightly.
