The reinforced metal door exploded inward, tearing from its hinges like paper. The frame itself collapsed, and emergency lighting stuttered to life as the room's systems short-circuited in a cascade of sparks.
Through the ominous smoke and settling debris, a figure emerged from the destruction—tall, imposing, and radiating barely controlled fury.
Grayson stepped into the room, and the temperature seemed to drop twenty degrees. His silver eyes swept the scene before him—the scattered glass, the cowering figures, and there, crumpled on the floor amid the wreckage, his employee.
Neville's bloodshot ocean-blue eyes were glazed with pain, and blood trickled from where glass had sliced into his palms.
"I believe," Grayson said, his voice a quiet menace that had once made enemy commanders surrender without a fight. "Someone needs to explain to me why my employee is bleeding on the floor."
The words were a death sentence.
