In another part of the city, inside a high-rise building, a welco party was being held in a wide, well-lit hall.
Tables were lined with food — real food, untouched and abundant — and bottles of expensive liquor stood like trophies on every surface, while soft music played in the background.
It was noisy... exceedingly so, at least when it ca to sound.
But the atmosphere? It felt calm. Almost too calm.
Like the world outside didn’t exist at all.
It was the kind of party that held a level of extravagance this city no longer could afford.
Organized by local thugs — dressed in suits a size too big — desperately trying to impress the ones who had co from the Drevane family.
The entire scene felt eerily detached from the reality beyond these walls...
Where tents covered sidewalks,
Where people lay shivering under scraps of cloth,
And where so still didn’t know if they’d have anything to eat tomorrow.
At the head of this place sat Nyra Drevane.
A woman with a presence too heavy to ignore.
Her gaze carried the weight of superiority — cool, sharp, and full of contempt.
She looked down on those around her without hiding it.
Her subordinates flaunted their power and background, while the thugs tripped over themselves trying to impress.
All of it irritated her.
That she had to be here — surrounded by these useless insects — was already too much.
A suspicious man, trained in essence, had apparently seized a few local companies.
He was trying to connect with so small ancient families...
Families so weak, they should feel ashad to even call themselves ancient.
All this... in California. Their territory.
Was this supposed to be a big deal?
She didn’t think so.
That’s why, instead of wasting ti investigating and assessing, she had already made up her mind.
If the man pretending to play chairman dared to show his face — she’d simply kill him and be done with it.
They needed money, anyway.
They were just looking for an excuse.
And now, these clowns had kindly provided one.
Yes... her train of thought felt just right.
While sipping her wine, lost in her thoughts, Nyra was suddenly interrupted.
"Lady Drevane," a voice said cautiously.
Nyra turned her gaze toward the biggest clown in the room — Clint.
He had quietly made his way to her side. She gave him a slight nod, granting him permission to speak.
Clint, the man who had noticed sothing off about the situation with Zero... and a long-ti enemy of Miles, lowered his head slightly. His voice was low, careful, almost pathetic.
"My Lady... I’ve lost contact with one of my boys. Been a while now, and no matter what I do, I can’t reach him. I think he might’ve been made. Caught, maybe killed."
"What I an is... there’s a good chance the other side already caught wind of our plan for tomorrow."
Nyra narrowed her eyes, the edge of her lip twitching with annoyance.
She stared at him for a mont and then asked, coldly:
"Who said it was a surprise attack?"
"Huh?" Clint blinked and lifted his head slightly, confused. "Pardon?"
Nyra let out a slow, impatient breath and said flatly, "The goal was never the man. It’s the company."
"If we get him? Great. If not? Doesn’t matter. The company’s here — in California. Our area."
Clint’s face darkened for a mont.
He failed to keep his expression in check, even if only for a second.
Nyra noticed... and ignored it.
"Anyway," she said, her tone sharp, "stop acting on your own and wasting ti with useless little gas. Just behave like the dog you are."
She didn’t frown. She didn’t raise her voice.
But the sting in her words was undeniable.
That was when it happened.
When the so-called big shot of the thugs — Clint, the leader of this band of clowns — and the actual big shot from the Drevane family, Nyra, a woman at first-stage strength...
When these two big shots were locked in a tense and almost laughable exchange, suddenly —
Nyra froze.
Her eyes narrowed.
A cold tingle crawled up her spine.
Her head turned sharply, instincts flaring just a second too late.
Then she saw it.
One of her subordinates —
His body was torn apart in real ti.
No warning. No sound. Just an explosion of flesh.
CRACK.
THOOM.
The ground trembled.
Behind the shredded corpse, a crater split open in the stone floor, smoke curling upward like breath from hell.
Blood mist hung thick in the air.
The sound of impact — whatever had torn through the man — echoed before the sharp roar of it cutting through the air.
And that delay?
It ant only one thing.
The damn thing had moved faster than sound.
Nyra felt her breath catch, and her body stiffened at what kind of shit was going on.
Beside her? Clint was ready to shit himself already.
For a second, everything went still.
A mangled corpse. Limbs scattered like at.
Blood pooling. Silence reigning.
And then—
BOOM.
Another shot.
Another man.
Only half a head along with two limps left, most of his body reduced to ruin.
He collapsed beside the first, in a second pool of gore... bringing down with him a spark.
A spark that lit a panic that erupted like wildfire doused in oil.
Screams broke out.
Soone ran.
Another hit the ground, wailing.
And it wasn’t just the lowly thugs.
Even the so-called elites of the Drevane family had stopped breathing — frozen, wide-eyed, looking around like children suddenly dragged into a warzone.
It was then — finally — that Nyra ca back to her senses.
Her brain kicked into overdrive, cold sweat soaking her back as she tried to process the situation.
Two shots.
Sa angle.
Sniper.
But... it was too far. So how?
Magic?
No... the shot was completely physical.
Her thoughts raced, but she didn’t have the luxury of ti.
She knew — a third shot was probably already on the way.
And that’s why her voice, sharp and commanding, cut through the chaos like a whip:
"Spread out! Find the fucker who’s sniping us before we all drop like cattle!"
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