The city lights bled across the glass walls of Eron's penthouse.
He stood at the edge of the room, overlooking the streets far below. His reflection stared back at him from the glass—hard eyes, clenched jaw, shoulders tight with rage.
He hadn't slept. He hadn't even sat down. Since the news of Garrick's death, his mind had been one unbroken storm.
Every second, he replayed it. The reports. The images. The whispers that spread through the Hunter world like wildfire—Lucian and his team had returned alive, stronger than ever, and Garrick was gone.
Gone.
His only son.
Eron's fist pressed against the glass hard enough to crack it. His chest rose and fell with sharp breaths. The city stretched endlessly below him, but all he could see was Garrick's face.
"You were supposed to live longer than me," he muttered, voice low and raw. "You were supposed to carry the name higher than I ever could. And they took you from me."
