Noah moved swiftly, the heavy thud of Horace Wilkins' limp body barely audible as it landed on the threadbare couch.
Noah stood above him, his gaze cold, and utterly devoid of mercy.
The room was silent, save for the faint whispers of wind outside. It was a fitting backdrop for what was about to happen.
Noah wasn't doing this to make a spectacle, to send a message to everyone, or to set an example. No, this wasn't about power plays or manipulation.
Noah was here for a simple reason: he had made a promise. He had told Horace Wilkins that if he ever stepped foot inside An's Gourmet again, he would break his legs. And Noah was a man of his word.
"I don't break my promises, at least not without a valid reason."
