"I heard you'd made some changes," I said finally, turning my attention to Hewes.
"Changes." Hewes smiled, swirling the liquid in his glass, watching the way the light caught in it. "I prefer to think of it as an upgrade. A necessary evolution. Persico was getting complacent. Soft. Content to maintain the status quo while opportunities passed him by. Fange City needed new leadership. Vision. Ambition."
"And you think you're that leadership."
"I know I am." He took a sip from his glass, savoring it. "Persico was content to sit on his throne and collect scraps from the other syndicates. I'm building an empire. Real power that extends beyond this trash heap. Connections with the Draxian syndicates, the smuggling cartels, the weapons dealers who supply half the Outer Rim."
I took a step forward. Slowly. Carefully. Testing to see if the guards would intervene.
They didn't. Just watched with weapons ready but not aimed.
Hewes didn't seem to notice my movement. Or if he did, he didn't care. Probably thought I was here to grovel, to beg forgiveness for defying his orders. To beg him to spare Merrilee.
"So tell me, Ahrick." He swirled the liquid in his glass, the ice clinking against the sides. "Are you here to apologize? For not throwing the fight like I ordered? For embarrassing me in front of my business partners?"
I held his gaze, letting the silence stretch for a heartbeat. "No."
"No?" His eyebrows rose, genuine surprise crossing his face. "Just... no? No explanation, no excuses?"
"It's not in me to be defeated." I took another step closer, closing the distance between us incrementally. "You should have known that. A Vaktaire warrior doesn't throw fights. We don't surrender. We don't quit. It goes against everything we are."
Hewes's smile faded. He set his glass down on the armrest with a sharp click, the sound echoing in the chamber.
"I see." He leaned back in the throne—Persico's throne—his posture shifting to something harder, more calculating. "Then you understand that there must be consequences. I can't have my fighters defying me, ignoring my orders. It sets a bad precedent. Makes me look weak. And in Fange City, weakness is death."
"I understand."
"Good." His eyes glittered, dark and cold. "The question is—what punishment would be effective for someone like you? Pain doesn't work. You're too used to it after years in the fighting pits. Threats don't work. You don't fear death—if anything, you'd probably welcome it. So what does that leave me?"
He stood, descending the steps of the dais with deliberate slowness, each footfall echoing in the chamber.
"There is one thing that would hurt you, isn't there? One weakness you've developed. One vulnerability that makes you soft."
My jaw clenched, muscles tightening.
"Merrilee." He said her name like a curse, like something dirty. "Your precious mate. The best way to punish you is to hurt her. And I intend to do exactly that. Maybe I'll give her to Korroth after all. Or maybe I'll just let my guards have some fun with her. Either way, you'll watch. You'll see what happens when you defy me."
The world narrowed to a single point.
Hewes.
Standing there in his stolen power. Smiling. Talking about Merrilee like she was a problem to be solved, a tool to be used against me.
My predatory instincts sharpened to a razor's edge. I saw the distance between us with perfect clarity. Calculated the angle of attack, the exact trajectory my body would need to take. felt my muscles coiling, preparing to strike.
Just a few more steps.
"What kind of punishment?" I asked, my voice flat, emotionless. Giving nothing away.
"Nothing you need to concern yourself with. Just know that after tonight, you'll be free to focus on what you do best—fighting and killing—without the distraction of—"
The door behind me slammed open with explosive force.
Guards rushed in—three of them, moving fast, their expressions urgent and alarmed, their weapons drawn.
"Sir," one of them said, breathless and panicked. "The human. She's gone."
Hewes went still, his entire body freezing mid-sentence.
