Violet had just left Cain's room when a sharp, low whistle pierced the air—a sound so faint it would barely be noticed by human ears. Almost immediately, a knock resounded against the door. Cain turned toward it, fastening the last button on his shirt as he called for the visitor to enter.
The door opened, revealing Frank, the head of Cain's guards. Dressed in a pitch-black uniform that blended seamlessly with the dim ambiance of the room, Frank stepped in silently before dropping to one knee. His movements were deliberate, disciplined. His gaze remained respectfully averted as Cain adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves, walking toward the kneeling man with an air of quiet authority.
"My Lord, you called," Frank said, his voice steady despite the palpable tension in the room.
