Aiden Knight's POV
The abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Everbrook City reeked of motor oil and decay. George Russell sat bound to a rusted chair, blood trickling from his split lip. His expensive suit was torn and dirty, a far cry from his usual pristine appearance.
"You've kept me waiting long enough, George."
The voice that cut through the darkness belonged to Miles Graves, the legendary patriarch who had supposedly died in seclusion fifteen years ago. His presence filled the warehouse like a gathering storm. Age had not diminished his power—if anything, the years had concentrated it into something more dangerous.
"Master Graves, I swear I've been searching—"
"Searching." Miles stepped into the flickering light cast by a single bare bulb. His weathered face bore the marks of decades spent perfecting the martial arts, but his eyes burned with an intensity that made grown men weep. "My grandson is dead. My family's blood has been spilled. And you offer me excuses."
