ZYRAN’S POV

The coffee splashed across the floor, but Mateo didn’t even blink.

"You dropped your coffee, Thompson," I said, my voice low and steady, echoing off the walls. I kept walking until I stood just a few feet away from him, keeping Roosevelt safely by my side.

Before Mateo could speak, the elevator chimed again. Two more figures stepped out behind him.

It was my mother, Beatrice, and my sister, Clara, they both wore expensive suits and looked smug. But the moment they glanced past Mateo's shoulder and saw me, the arrogance drained from their faces.

"Zyran?" Beatrice gasped, hands flying to her chest as she stumbled backward, bumping...