The night wind howled across the rooftop of the fifty-story building. Far below, the city lights shimmered, silent witnesses to a meeting that should never have happened.

The rooftop door creaked open, and Arga stepped through, his stride steady. At the far end, Devandra was already waiting, his black suit billowing in the wind, his gaze sharp as a blade.

“You came,” Devandra said, his voice flat but heavy with meaning. “I thought you’d avoid me, like you always do.”

Arga gave a faint smile. “Avoid you? Not in my vocabulary. But it seems tonight, you’re the one who called this meeting, Devandra.”

Arga’s steps closed the gap between them...