Lucian paused.
Giving his real name felt stupid. Dangerous, even. This wasn't a social visit. It was a job. A test. He couldn't risk saying the wrong thing.
"I'm Michael," he said.
The man didn't blink. He stared at Lucian the way someone stares at an animal that's wandered into their yard, like he was trying to figure out if it was dangerous or just dumb.
"You come into my bar," the man said slowly, "don't greet me, and now you lie to my face?"
Lucian felt the tension build in his shoulders. His back stiffened. Sweat formed near the back of his neck.
His instinct said to stand his ground, but another part of him warned that any pride here would be crushed in seconds.
The man kept watching him. Then, suddenly, he grinned.
"Aah, I'm messing with you, Michael," he said, leaning back in his chair. "I like watching your generation squirm. You've got too much to learn. Don't be so stiff when doing business. It'll get you hurt."
Lucian didn't respond. He knew better.
The grin faded. The man's eyes drifted to the box that had just been taken by his younger guy. His tone dropped.
"But listen carefully," the man said. "Tell your boss this, whatever setbacks she's going through, I don't care. I want my products next month. And more after that. No excuses."
He leaned in and placed a hand on Lucian's shoulder. The grip was firm, too casual to be friendly, too light to be comforting.
It felt like pressure for the sake of dominance. Lucian's body tensed again. For a second, his instinct told him to brush the hand off. Just a flick of the wrist. A clean rejection.
But he didn't move. He swallowed it.
The man tilted his head. "You feel that, Mikey? That twitch in you that wants to push back? Good. It means you're alive."
He leaned in just a little more. "But let me teach you something. In our world, it's not the bosses who bleed first. It's the runners. The errand boys. The guys who walk into places they don't belong, carrying boxes they don't understand."
Lucian didn't speak. He held his breath, waiting.
The man finally pulled back, satisfied.
"I think we're done here," he said. "Stay for one more drink. It's on me."
He waved his hand, and the younger man picked up the box. The older man stood, smoothed out his jacket, and walked toward the back exit like he owned the place. No one got in his way.
Lucian stayed seated. His whole body relaxed the moment the man left his line of sight.
His shoulders dropped. He took a slow breath and let it out. It felt like walking off a wire.
He looked at the glass of alcohol in front of him. It was dark, probably strong, and untouched. The waitress had dropped it off without a word while everything else was happening.
He didn't reach for it. He wasn't here to enjoy himself.
The guy who had taken the box gave him a small smirk before disappearing through another door, leaving Lucian alone at the high table.
The music in the club kept going. Laughter, bass, voices, it all moved around him like nothing had happened.
But Lucian felt the pressure still lingering in his chest.
This was his first job. And it didn't feel like a delivery.
It felt like a warning.
He paused, his thoughts heavy and scattered. Was he really cut out for this?
Nothing in his past had prepared him for a life like this. He didn't grow up around gangs or backroom deals. He wasn't raised to be a criminal.
His hands weren't used to carrying boxes like this, and his heart wasn't used to sitting across from men who could kill with a word.
But desperation changes people.
He had made a deal. A real one. One that tied him to something far worse than any gang or street crew. That being had given him power, on the condition that he would climb to the top of the underworld.
That path looked impossible now. He was sitting in a bar, being tested like a kid who barely earned a seat at the table. And the truth was, they were right. He was far from ready.
Lucian reached for the glass. The liquor inside still looked untouched. He took a breath, lifted it, and threw the whole thing back.
The burn hit instantly. He winced and clenched his jaw, shaking his head slightly. That was strong.
He set the glass down, rubbed his face, and exhaled. Maybe the next job would be better.
Maybe it would open some kind of door. Right now, he was just delivering packages and being reminded of how small he still was.
He leaned back a little, trying to relax. His body still held tension, but at least the pressure had passed.
Behind him, a group of men were gathered in a booth. Their voices were low, but not quiet enough to be missed.
A few girls were with them, dressed sharp, laughing now and then between hushed conversations. Something about the way they all leaned in suggested they weren't just talking for fun.
Lucian didn't turn to look. He kept his eyes on the ceiling, letting the bass of the music run beneath his thoughts.
Everything felt far away for a moment. The club, the deal, even the mission. He wondered if his brother would ever know what he was doing for him. Probably not. And maybe that was better.
He had already stepped into the mud. There was no point in crying about getting dirty now.
After another breath, he was about to stand up. There was no reason to stay longer.
He had done the job. Time to go back and see if they had something else waiting.
Something that mattered more than just a test.
Lucian paused. His ears caught something from the booth behind him, a shift in tone, a few words spoken too low for normal ears to pick up. But nothing about him was normal anymore.
He tilted his head slightly and signaled the bartender for another drink, keeping his posture relaxed. He didn't look back. He didn't need to. The sound carried clearly to him.
Super hearing.