Brushing down his shirt, Guldrin smoothed out any wrinkles, rolling his shoulders as he concentrated. The unnatural sensation of his wings retracting, folding into nothingness, sent a strange ripple through his back. He barely reacted, by now, the process was second nature, but that didn't mean it wasn't odd.
How the hell did he fit in the car with wings in the first place?
Supernatural bullshit, that's how.
The door hinges let out a soft creak as the Chevelle's doors swung open.
"Fuck, gonna need some WD40 for that squeak soon." He muttered to himself,
The second his boots hit the concrete, he was hit with a cocktail of scents so thick it almost felt like a physical force.
Burnt rubber, hot asphalt, the acrid sting of exhaust fumes clinging to the air, mingling with the sweat of men chasing their next rush, and the distant, stale scent of cheap beer spilled on the pavement.
And women, the smell of unadulterated sex, can't forget that.
This was the kind of place where fortunes were made and lost in the time it took for a set of tires to spin through third gear.
A world where skill, ego, and sheer recklessness dictated survival.
Guldrin let his gaze sweep across the first level, taking in every detail.
Alisa slid out of the car next, soundless as ever, her movements precise, and fluid, like she was never truly touching the ground.
To be honest, it was a toss-up whether she was or not given her personality. Alisa could be concerned about the grim touching her, or simply think it is beneath her, you never know with her.
She took her place beside him, blending seamlessly into the shadows of the garage's industrial lighting.
Revy, on the other hand, stretched as she stepped out, rolling her shoulders with the kind of lazy confidence that made people nervous.
She was the opposite of subtle, but that was part of the charm. A caged predator finally let loose, just waiting for an excuse to rip something apart.
The garage's first level was a chaotic symphony of activity.
Engines growled, revving impatiently as their owners boasted about tuning specs and quarter-mile times.
Street racers and spectators moved like an ever-shifting tide, voices raised in heated bets, taunts, and cheers.
Neon underglows reflected off polished concrete, bathing everything in eerie streaks of color. Women rubbing on cars, men feeling them up, anything you could guess, it could be found.
However, no one was paying attention to Guldrin's group
Perfect.
This wasn't their battlefield, yet.
They needed to find Campos, and persuasively convince him to tell them where Letty is.
Shiro's voice crackled in Guldrin's earpiece, a calm contrast to the storm of noise around them. "Campos is near the top. VIP section. Six confirmed bodyguards, well-armed. But two of them? Sloppy. Not so much as sloppy in their protection, but the kind that screams I am overconfident, no one will fuck with me."
A ghost of a smirk flickered across Guldrin's face. "Anvil?"
Shiro's next words were almost lazy, like a cat toying with prey. "Two confirmed, at least. Maybe more. They're keeping a loose perimeter. They think they're blending in."
"They're not."
"Correct, I will guide you to them, facial recognition will allow for no mistakes. I am still trying to reestablish a connection with the bugs on Letty, but no dice yet." Shiro agreed and then explained the current situation.
Alisa's voice was quiet, measured. "Do you have a plan, little master?"
Guldrin didn't respond right away, stepping forward into the shifting sea of bodies. He was careful, and controlled, his movements deliberate as he walked like a man with all the time in the world.
"Silent, if we can manage it," he finally murmured.
Revy grinned like a kid at Christmas.
"But," Guldrin continued, "if things get loud… we make sure it's deafening."
That was all the permission Revy needed.
They moved deeper into the parking structure, becoming part of the current rather than fighting against it.
There were no sudden movements, no obvious signs of aggression, just three more faces in the crowd.
The first Anvil operative was good.
Not good enough, but good.
Even Guldrin had to give credit where credit was due.
He was positioned near a cluster of modified imports, his stance casual, but his eyes told a different story.
Too sharp.
Too focused.
Watching, but not watching the cars.
"I got this one, keep moving."
He didn't see Revy until it was too late.
She wove through the throng with the kind of grace that only came from years of experience, her presence barely registering against the chaotic backdrop of revving engines and shouting racers.
If the crowd was an ocean of noise and motion, she was the silent predator gliding beneath the surface, unnoticed, unseen, lethal.
No wasted movement. No unnecessary hesitation.
Her approach was seamless, and natural, the kind of thing that would be easily dismissed by anyone who happened to glance her way. Just another woman in the crowd, maybe sidling up to her boyfriend, whispering something meant only for his ears. Casual. Unremarkable.
But her hands told a different story.
One brushed against his back, soft, almost affectionate, the kind of touch that spoke of familiarity, maybe a whispered flirtation, maybe a lover's greeting.
The other, however, was pure murder. A flash of steel slipped between his ribs, precise and unforgiving, piercing deep before twisting with the kind of practiced efficiency that left no room for survival. A punctured lung. The twist of the blade eviscerated any chance of drawing another breath.
A sharp, choked exhale was all he managed before his body failed him entirely, his legs giving out as his weight sagged into her.
Revy caught him effortlessly, her grip firm but controlled, tilting his slumping body just enough to make it look natural, as if they were just another couple lost in the noise of the garage. From a distance, it might've looked like an embrace, a secret exchanged under the cover of the crowd's chaos.
By the time she let him slip to the ground, his body wedged between two parked cars, he was already an afterthought. Just another forgotten soul in a world where weakness didn't last long. She lingered a moment, ensuring there was no last, desperate twitch of life left in him, then straightened, rolling her wrist with a quiet sigh.
"One down," she muttered, shaking out her hand. "And way too easy. Aren't these guys supposed to be pros? Ex-military? Maybe some black ops badasses?" She scoffed, already turning back toward the group. "If this is the best they've got, I feel kinda insulted."
Despite her complaints, there was no denying the efficiency of her kill. Silent, clean, effortless.
The moment she rejoined the others, Shiro's voice crackled in through their earpieces, cutting through the background noise with pinpoint precision.
"Hold up. Got another one."
Eyes snapped to attention.
From their separate high-tech command centers, Shiro and Skye sat in the glow of dozens of screens, their eyes darting between different camera angles as they monitored the unfolding chaos below. The garage was a maze of shadows and neon reflections, filled with the restless energy of a crowd unaware that death was already moving among them.
They had hacked into the facility's security system within minutes, overriding feeds and setting up their own invisible domain. Every flicker of movement, every misplaced glance, every anomaly, it all belonged to them now.
And right now, they have a new target.
"Ten o'clock," Skye's voice came through the comms, sharp and controlled, but tinged with a trace of amusement. "Tall, buzz cut, built like a goddamn tank. Piece on his hip, posture screams military. He knows something's off. He keeps touching his earpiece, most likely trying to check in with the dead guy who Revy took out."
Guldrin tilted his head ever so slightly, letting his gaze slice through the thrumming mass of bodies. He spotted the man almost instantly, a walking slab of muscle, wrapped in a tight tactical jacket that did nothing to hide the sheer bulk of him.
His stance was rigid, controlled, his sharp gaze flickering across the garage with the wariness of a trained operator. Unlike the last target, this one carried himself like a man accustomed to danger, someone who had survived enough fights to expect another.
But he wasn't looking for Revy.
He wasn't looking for them.
Not yet.
Revy let out a slow, lazy exhale before rolling her shoulders, her smirk practically dripping with anticipation. "This one gonna put up a fight, or am I just gonna be disappointed again?" she asked, flexing her fingers like a boxer before a match.
Guldrin didn't bother to look at her, his lips barely twitching as he muttered, "We're about to find out."
The team moved subtly, shifting their positions with the kind of casual precision that came from experience.
They blended in, becoming just another part of the restless crowd. A job like this requires patience, and finesse. No unnecessary movements, no sudden shifts. The last thing they needed was an all-out firefight in the middle of a packed garage alerting Campos to run.
Crackling through the earpiece, Skye's voice returned, and this time, it carried that telltale note of barely restrained mischief. "This one's yours, Guldrin. Revy's not his type. He plays for the other team, if you know what I mean. I checked his social media, big fan of tight shirts and beard scruff. How's your male-on-male seduction game?"
Guldrin exhaled through his nose, resisting the urge to groan. "I will not be seducing this guy," he muttered. "But I can lead him away and put him down. Just… fuck. This is gonna suck."
Revy let out a bark of laughter, slapping him on the back. "Oh, come on, pretty boy. Where's that confidence? You've got the bone structure of a goddamn Greek statue, give him a little eye contact, maybe a smirk. Play the part."
"Why the hell do you sound excited about this?" Guldrin shot back, adjusting his posture as he formulated a plan.
"Because this is entertaining," Skye interjected. "And because I'm recording everything."
"Of course you are," he muttered knowing better than to try to ask her not to.
The next part of the plan was attracting the guy's attention and doing it without raising any alarms. This guy was wired tight, already suspicious.
One wrong move, one misplaced interaction, and it wouldn't be a clean kill, it'd be a full-scale shootout.
Not an option, yet.
Guldrin exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before rolling his shoulders. Fine. He'd play the game.
He angled his stance, shifting his body language just enough to seem approachable. Confident, but not aggressive. He needed to bait the guy, but not make it obvious.
Then he moved.
A few purposeful steps brought him closer, just enough to enter the man's peripheral vision without screaming intent. He let himself brush past, casual but not careless, a brief touch of his shoulder against the target's arm before turning slightly, as if just realizing the contact.
The man stiffened, his head snapping toward Guldrin, sharp eyes locking onto him immediately.
Guldrin let a slow smirk pull at the corner of his mouth. "My bad," he said smoothly, voice laced with just the right amount of casual charm. Not too much, not too little. Just enough to linger.
For a moment, there was silence. A slow, assessing stare.
The guy wasn't stupid, his instincts were screaming at him to be cautious.
Then, the tension cracked just slightly. The man huffed, eyes narrowing. "No problem," he muttered, his voice carrying that clipped efficiency of someone who wasn't used to small talk.
Guldrin didn't break eye contact. He let the silence stretch, just long enough to make it uncomfortable, before giving a slight tilt of his head. "You look like you're waiting for something," he mused.
The man's jaw tightened. "Just keeping an eye on things."
"Funny," Guldrin murmured. "Me too."
The air between them shifted. The guy was studying him now, suspicion still there but tempered by something else. Curiosity. Maybe even mild intrigue.
Good.
He had him.
Guldrin let his expression relax, body language shifting just enough to seem at ease. Then, as if making a decision, he let out a soft chuckle. "You know, this place is a little too crowded for my taste. I was about to step outside for some air."
A test, if it doesn't work, well, there were other ways to remove him.
The man's gaze flickered, just for a second.
Then, after a beat, he gave a curt nod. "Might do the same."
Hook, line, and sinker.
Guldrin suppressed the smirk threatening to curl his lips. Instead, he simply nodded and started moving, casual, unhurried. The man followed, his presence a heavy weight at Guldrin's back.
Through the comms, Revy's voice crackled with barely contained laughter. "Holy shit, you actually pulled it off."
"Shut up," Guldrin muttered.
Guldrin suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. He could practically hear Skye's smug satisfaction in his head, even though, for once, she'd gone quiet, letting him handle it. That silence was worse than her teasing.
His heart pounded a little harder, not with nerves, but with the anticipation of what came next. It was like a calling of something he couldn't quite place, like he was doing this for a reason, something other than saving Letty and cruel revenge on Anvil.
He led the man toward one of the garage's side exits, where the crowd thinned out, replaced by the lingering scent of motor oil, asphalt, and just a hint of burnt rubber from the races earlier that night. The heavy bass of music from inside the garage dulled to a distant thrum as they stepped into the cool night air.
The man was close now, footsteps steady behind him. A professional, then. Not reckless. Not eager. The kind who made sure he wasn't walking into a trap.
Too bad for him, he was already in one.
The door shut behind them with a quiet finality, and before the sound even had time to settle, Guldrin moved.
Fast.
A sharp pivot. A flick of the wrist.
Steel flashed under the dim glow of a nearby streetlamp, slicing through the darkness in a precise arc, aimed right for the man's throat.
But this guy was no rookie.
Instinct kicked in, and the man jerked back just enough to avoid the blade sinking deep. The steel still bit, carving a shallow, crimson line across his neck, but he was already countering, his hand dipping toward his hip, reaching for the gun he had holstered there.
Guldrin didn't let him.
A single press of a concealed button on the knife sent a jolt of electricity coursing through the air between them.
The man barely had time to react before his body seized, muscles locking up as the shock hit him like a freight train. His fingers twitched uselessly, inches from his weapon. His knees buckled, breath catching in his throat as his nerves misfired, every fiber of his being trapped in a state of agonizing paralysis.
And then, Guldrin ended it.
With his chance clear, he pushed further, and his knife found its mark, punching deep into the soft flesh of the man's throat.
The blade tore through muscle, veins, and cartilage in one fluid motion before Guldrin ripped it free, painting the alleyway with a violent splash of red.
The guy didn't even have time to grunt in protest, let alone beg for mercy. His body sagged, hitting the ground like a discarded marionette whose strings had been severed.
Guldrin crouched over him, watching the last flickers of life dim in the man's wide, glassy eyes. There was something eerily fascinating about it, that moment when recognition faded into nothingness, when a trained, dangerous killer was reduced to just another corpse cooling on the pavement.
And for a second, just a brief second, Guldrin let himself enjoy it.
Not out of sadism. Not entirely.
But because something deep inside him felt like this was meant to happen, like it was his END in finality. He could feel a slight shift in his being as something left the man and entered him, but he knew it was a good thing, something meant for him.
Something, HE earned.
The world was cruel, and those who hesitated, who second-guessed, who blinked, ended up in a pool of their own blood.
He had learned that lesson long ago.
Straightening up, he wiped his blade clean on the dead man's jacket, casting one last glance at the lifeless body sprawled before him.
Then, with a casual flick of his wrist, he sheathed the blade, and he pressed his comm.
"All clear."
Skye's voice crackled through the comms almost immediately, carrying a teasing lilt that barely masked her amusement. "Damn, that was cold. You really got into it, didn't you?"
Guldrin exhaled through his nose, his movements unhurried as he stepped over the still-warm corpse. He didn't bother looking back. There was no need. The deed was done, the mess already being soaked up by the cracks in the asphalt, vanishing into the underbelly of the city like so many before. "Just another dead idiot," he muttered, his voice devoid of anything resembling remorse. "Won't be the last to die 'cause of tail."
Skye didn't know when she became so indifferent to death; maybe it was the cruel truth of the world that she learned, maybe the things she saw when being a hacktivist, she didn't know, but she knew she should feel something about that scene, but she didn't, and she was A-Okay with that.
The night air was thick with the lingering scent of gasoline, blood, and something metallic that clung to his senses.
The city had a way of swallowing things whole, secrets, people, and blood. It didn't care. And neither did he.
Tucking his knife away with a flick of his wrist, Guldrin adjusted his jacket and made his way back toward the garage's main entrance.
He didn't rush. Moving too quickly after a kill was sloppy, and raised suspicion. Confidence, control, and nonchalance, that's what made people look the other way.
Inside, the atmosphere was still alive with the hum of engines, the bass of music rattling through the concrete, and the mingling scents of burnt rubber and sweat. The crowd was oblivious to the death that had just occurred a few feet away, too wrapped up in their own world of bets, booze, and bullshit to have any idea..
Rejoining the group, he found Revy and Alisa right where he left them. Revy was leaning back, boots kicked up on a crate like she owned the place, twirling a cigarette in her hand with that signature smirk of hers, half amusement, half promise of violence.
Alisa, on the other hand, was scanning the crowd with calculated precision, her eyes flicking from one potential threat to the next.
Before either of them could say anything, Skye's voice came back over the comms, this time with an update. "Alright, lover boy, looks like your little detour didn't kick up any extra heat. No more Anvil in the immediate vicinity. Path to Campos's VIP section is looking clear-ish."
Guldrin arched a brow at the choice of words. "Clear-ish?"
Shiro's voice cut in, calm and analytical as always. "A few guards, but nothing outside the expected parameters. Low-level security, paid muscle. They aren't the kind who ask too many questions as long as the money's good."
Guldrin nodded slightly to himself. Good. That was exactly what he had been banking on.
If there was one universal truth in this world, it was that money was king.
Loyalty? Overrated. Principles? Only useful to the rich or the dead. When it came down to it, the majority of guards weren't protecting VIPs out of some deep sense of duty.
They were here for a paycheck, and if someone was willing to offer a better one for them to look the other way, well...
That made everything easier.
Guldrin reached into his pocket, his fingers brushing over the thick stack of bills he had prepared in advance before leaving the shop. Two grand in cash, small, neat stacks of hundreds, easy to flash, easy to fold into a waiting palm.
Bribes weren't about the money itself.
It was about how you delivered it.
Too much hesitation, and they'd smell a setup. Too little, and they'd think you were insulting them.
Confidence was key.
Let them believe they were the ones making the choice, that they were getting the better end of the deal.
Guldrin glanced at Revy and Alisa. "We're gonna make a little donation."
Revy let out a low chuckle, shifting her weight as she flipped her cigarette into her mouth with a flourish. "Love a good donation drive."
Alisa simply nodded, her expression unreadable as always.
Guldrin smirked and led the way.
Navigating through the garage's underground scene was second nature by now.
He moved through the crowd like a ghost, just another face in the sea of adrenaline junkies, crooks, and thrill-seekers.
The trick was to blend in without drawing attention, to be noticed just enough that people remembered your presence but not enough that they actually remembered you.
Up ahead, the entrance to the VIP section was guarded by two men. Both looked exactly how you'd expect, big, broad, and built like human walls.
One was scrolling through his phone, barely paying attention, while the other was eyeing the crowd with the kind of detached boredom that only came from standing in one place too long.
Easy.
Guldrin didn't slow his stride as he approached. Hesitation was what got people killed. Confidence made people assume you belonged.
The more alert of the two guards finally shifted his focus as Guldrin got close. "No entry." His voice was flat, uninterested, already expecting to turn him away.
Guldrin let a slow smirk pull at the corner of his lips. "C'mon now. No need to be hasty."
He pulled out the cash in one smooth motion, folding a few bills over with his fingers just enough to make sure the guard saw them. Not flashing too much, just enough to make it clear what was on the table.
The guard's expression didn't change immediately, but his eyes flickered, betraying his thought process.
Guldrin tilted his head slightly, keeping his tone casual. "I think a grand each says you step aside for a few minutes, maybe grab a smoke, let us enjoy the party with señor Campos."
The guy hesitated for only a second before exhaling through his nose and nodding at his partner. "Make it quick."
Guldrin pressed the neatly folded bills into the guard's palm, the crisp paper vanishing into the man's grip like it had never existed. The exchange was smooth, and practiced. A well-oiled machine of corruption in its simplest form.
He gave the guy a firm pat on the shoulder, the kind that said, Be smart. Take the money. Forget you saw us.
"Pleasure doing business," Guldrin murmured with a lazy smirk before stepping past, already dismissing the man from his thoughts.
Revy, as always, moved like she belonged anywhere she set foot, strolling through as if the velvet ropes and armed security were mere suggestions. She shot the second guard a wink, her smirk laced with the kind of confidence that either got people killed or made them fall in love. "Don't spend it all in one place, sweetheart." Her voice was sweet, but the glint in her eye was anything but.
She had already marked these two, when everything inevitably went to hell, she would end them and get that money back.
The guard stiffened slightly, eyes darting between her and Guldrin, but the money had already worked its magic.
Greed was a hell of a drug.
Alisa, as expected, slipped through in silence. No words, no gestures, just pure efficiency. She wasn't here to charm anyone, and she certainly wasn't going to waste breath on a couple of rent-a-thugs who'd just sold their loyalty for pocket change.
As soon as the trio disappeared past the checkpoint, Skye's voice purred in Guldrin's earpiece, the barely concealed amusement evident in her tone. "Textbook. You really do have a way with people."
Guldrin rolled his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching in a smirk as he adjusted his jacket. "People like money. That's all it takes."
"Yeah, well," Skye continued, her voice laced with a knowing smirk. "That might work on low-level grunts, but you're about to step into a whole different playing field, lover boy. These guys? They don't smile for a few grand."
And she wasn't wrong.
The moment they crossed the threshold into the VIP section, the atmosphere shifted. The air was thick, weighted with the scent of expensive cologne, imported cigars, and the underlying tension that always came when predators shared the same space.
The music was still present, but it was muted, a dull thrum beneath the low hum of conversation. There was no shouting, no drunken brawls, none of the reckless chaos that pulsed through the main floor.
No, this was different.
Here, every word was measured, every glance calculated. This wasn't the kind of place where people got drunk and threw fists over a lost race.
No one here was fighting over scraps.
These were the players who settled disputes with silencers and offshore accounts, the kind who made problems disappear with the flick of a wrist or the push of a button.
The lighting was lower, dim enough to create shadows but bright enough that no one could claim plausible deniability if something went down. The patrons lounged in plush leather seating, sipping on top-shelf liquor while discussing business that could very well decide who lived and who didn't see sunrise.
How do they set up an entire VIP lounge in a parking garage?
Money can do a lot of things; at least that is what Guldrin wrote it as in his head.
And in the middle of it all, standing like a king surveying his court, was Ramon Campos.
Guldrin spotted him immediately, medium build, broad-shouldered, draped in a causal outfit, leather jacket, skin-tight shirt, and a simple ornate gold chain and cross. He wasn't flaunting wealth the way some of the other men in the room were.
There were no gaudy gold chains or oversized watches.
Campos didn't need that.
His power wasn't in what he wore. It was in the way he stood, the way he held his glass with the kind of ease that only came from knowing he was untouchable.
The more Guldrin saw this man, the more he felt something was off.
His expression was unreadable, but the moment his lips curled into a slow, deliberate smirk, Guldrin knew that Campos had already taken note of them. The kind of man who survived in rooms like these didn't let anyone slip in unnoticed.
Shiro's voice came through the comms, calm, clinical. "You're in. Try not to kill anyone until we get the intel."
Guldrin's smirk didn't waver as he watched Campos lift his glass in a slow, deliberate toast.
It was an unspoken challenge, a silent invitation wrapped in the kind of arrogance only a man at the top of the food chain could pull off.
His sharp eyes, calculating and predatory, swept over them, dissecting, measuring, as if daring anyone foolish enough to make a wrong move, or any move at all.
"No promises," Guldrin murmured under his breath, more to himself than to Shiro.
Campos took a slow sip of his drink, never breaking eye contact, before setting the glass down with an almost lazy elegance. His lips curled into a smirk, but there was no humor behind it, only the quiet, coiled menace of a man who had seen far too much and trusted far too little.
"So," Campos drawled, his voice smooth but carrying an undeniable weight, the kind that made lesser men squirm. "Do one of you want to explain who you are and what exactly you're doing in my private section?" His gaze flickered briefly to Revy and Alisa, his smirk deepening. "Not that I mind the company of the ladies, of course. But you, young man…" His attention settled fully on Guldrin now, sharp and unwavering. "You look like you don't belong here. And I don't like that look in your eye."
Guldrin blinked, momentarily thrown off by how quickly Campos had zeroed in on him. He'd expected suspicion, sure, walking into a viper's den like this wasn't exactly a casual affair, but he hadn't anticipated being singled out so soon.
He recovered fast, though. His mind worked at lightning speed, grasping for an angle, a way to steer the conversation in his favor. And then…
An idea.
Not a good idea.
But an idea nonetheless.
His lips twitched, his posture shifting ever so slightly as he leaned forward, adopting the air of someone who knew something others didn't. Mystery was a weapon, after all, and if Campos was going to assume things about him, well… why not lean into it?
"Oh, us?" Guldrin's tone was almost playful, as if the question itself amused him. He let the silence hang for a beat too long, just enough to make Campos wonder.
Then, with a smirk that bordered on the theatrical, he continued, "We are those who exist but don't. Whispers in the night. Ashes of a forgotten time…" He let the words settle, tilting his head slightly, watching for a reaction. Then, just as smoothly, he finished, "But for you? We work for him."
'That's right, think I work for Braga… Or anyone else, create my lie for me.' He thought to himself as he waited for a response.
The beauty of a good lie wasn't in the complexity, it was in the gaps.
The moment Campos' expression shifted, the slight narrowing of his eyes, the subtle tension in his jaw, Guldrin knew he had him. Because him could be anyone. And if Campos was as connected as he seemed, then chances were, his mind was already filling in the blanks.
Campos studied him for a long moment, the weight of his gaze pressing down like a vice. The silence stretched, thick with tension, before a slow, knowing smirk curled his lips.
"Hmm," Campos mused, swirling the liquor in his glass before taking another deliberate sip. "Him, you say. Interesting."
Another pause. Another beat of weighted silence.
Then…
"Any friend of Shaw is at least an acquaintance to me." Campos set his glass down with a quiet clink, his expression unreadable, the weight of his words sinking into the space between them like a slow-moving current beneath deceptively calm waters. "Though, I'd very much like to know what he wants by sending you."
Guldrin didn't react, not outwardly, at least. His smirk remained, his posture unchanged, but inside, his mind was already shifting into overdrive, picking apart every possible angle, every potential meaning behind that single name.
Shaw.
Which Shaw?
Owen, the cold, calculating ex-military tactician who had carved his name into the underworld with precision, firepower, and deception? The guy who was dishonorably discharged from military service? Or Deckard, the relentless boogie man or ghost of Britain's special forces, the one you didn't see coming until it was too late?
Neither option was particularly comforting.
Thanks to Shiro and Skye's hacktivist tendencies, Guldrin had been given a crash course on most of the world's key players in espionage, organized crime, and outright destruction.
He knew enough to understand that the Shaw family wasn't one to be trifled with. Deckard Shaw was the kind of guy who could hold a grudge across continents, someone who takes revenge, makes it personal, tailors it, and wraps it in a neat little bow of poetic justice before delivering it in the most brutal way possible.
Owen was no saint either, but he was at least predictable in his pragmatism. But that didn't make him a less dangerous target. In his own way, Owen is a terrifying opponent.
Either way, Campos had just gambled on a connection that didn't exist, and the worst thing Guldrin could do right now was let that uncertainty show.
Because this was the kind of moment that could either work in their favor… or get them all killed.
The trick was making sure it was the first.
Guldrin met Campos' gaze without hesitation, his smirk still in place, his body language deliberately controlled, relaxed but not careless, confident but not overtly aggressive.
He had to sell this, had to lean into the role of someone who knew exactly what they were doing. Someone who was supposed to be here.
Too bad he had absolutely no idea what the hell he was doing.
He let the silence stretch just a second too long, just enough for Campos to start wondering. Then, in one smooth, calculated movement, Guldrin let his eyes drift away from Campos, his expression shifting ever so slightly, just enough to suggest irritation, controlled frustration. Not with Campos himself, but with the situation. With the fact that he had just name-dropped in a room full of people.
And he made sure everyone else noticed it.
Guldrin's gaze flicked pointedly around the room, his expression making it clear that whatever discussion was about to take place wouldn't be happening in front of an audience.
Campos caught the look immediately, his smirk twitching downward into a slight frown. He wasn't stupid. He knew exactly what that look meant.
A silent challenge.
A test of power.
Guldrin wasn't asking for privacy, he was demanding it. And by doing so, he was implying that whatever business was about to be discussed was far above the pay grade of anyone else in the room.
That alone was a risk, but it was one he had to take.
Campos exhaled through his nose, his fingers tapping idly against the rim of his glass. He didn't like being told what to do in his own domain. That much was obvious. But at the same time, he wasn't an idiot. He knew when to play along, when to read between the lines. And right now? The way Guldrin was carrying himself, the irritation, the controlled annoyance, the way he wasn't scrambling to explain himself like some two-bit hustler, made it seem as if Campos had just made a mistake.
And men like Campos didn't like making mistakes.
The moment stretched.
Then, with a lazy flick of his fingers, Campos gestured toward the other guests. "Out."
It wasn't loud. It wasn't barked like an order.
But it didn't have to be.
The effect was instant. The people in the room barely hesitated before moving. The air shifted as men who had been lingering near the bar, pretending not to be listening, suddenly found reasons to leave. The guards exchanged brief glances but followed suit. No questions. No arguments.
Just obedience.
'Right, I am getting more and more convinced you aren't who you appear to be on the surface, Campos. Good, maybe you will know more about where mom was taken.' Guldrin didn't show it on his face, but something inside him was loving this.
Revy leaned casually against the bar, watching the exodus with mild amusement.
Alisa, as always, was unreadable, but the slight tilt of her head suggested approval.
Once the last person had stepped out and the heavy doors swung shut, Campos leaned forward slightly, folding his hands over the table, studying Guldrin with renewed interest.
"There. Privacy." His voice was steady, but there was a new edge to it, a quiet frustration beneath the surface. "Now. Talk."
Guldrin let the silence stretch just a second longer, just enough to let Campos feel like he wasn't the one in control of the pace of the conversation. Then, finally, he spoke.
"I don't like repeating myself," he said smoothly, his tone bordering on disinterested. "Especially when names get thrown around so carelessly."
Campos' smirk returned, but this time it was sharper, more intrigued than amused. "You're an interesting one," he mused. "Most people either walk in here knowing exactly who they're dealing with, or they walk in thinking they know. You? You walk in like someone who expects me to do the thinking for you."
Guldrin shrugged. "If you already think you know why I'm here, why waste my breath correcting you?"
That earned a quiet chuckle. "Clever." Campos swirled his drink again, considering. "But dangerous. You see, I don't assume. I confirm."
Guldrin didn't blink. "Then confirm."
Campos tilted his head, studying him, searching for cracks, for any sign of hesitation. But Guldrin had already committed to the role. He leaned back slightly in his chair, utterly at ease, like a man who had the time to sit back and enjoy the show.
A few seconds passed. Then Campos' smirk returned in full.
"Well, if he sent you, I suppose you must have a reason for being here."
There it was. The bait had been taken, the assumption locked in. Campos believed that Shaw, whichever one he was thinking of, was involved. Now all Guldrin had to do was ride the wave until he pushed too far and had to break the illusion.
"Wouldn't be here otherwise," Guldrin replied smoothly.
Campos nodded, as if that answer satisfied him. "Then let's get to business."
Guldrin shot a quick glance at Revy and Alisa.
Time to get some answers, one way or another.
(Give me your POWER, Please, and Thank You! Leave reviews and comments, they motivate me to continue.)