But the mortal wasn't alone. He was with an immortal. At least, that's how it felt as Aren's gaze lifted to Rex's towering back, framed in the sunlight like he belonged here.
And Aren knew this firm well. It was the same one whose services they had quietly tapped into just last night for something as deceptively small as a copyright transfer contract. For Strathmore & Keene, that was pocket-change work, barely worth the ink and paper. But even that tiny glimpse into their efficiency had left Aren impressed.
Now, standing before their headquarters, the true scale of it sank in. This wasn't a building. It was a fortress of influence. Within these walls, careers weren't just made, they were shielded. Empires weren't just built, they were defended. And wars… wars were fought here not with armies, but with clauses, subclauses, and signatures sharp enough to cut throats.
