While Neville was off on his vacation, Grayson was several floors below in the hotel's business center. He sat behind a temporary desk, silver eyes sweeping across the holographic displays.
His light brain chimed with an incoming call. The ID flashed a name he had been expecting. He answered with a flick of his fingers.
"How dare you send your people here?!" The voice that burst through was furious, the man's usually composed demeanor cracking under strain.
Grayson leaned back in his chair, the picture-perfect image of calm but imposing authority.
"How dare you send your 'brother' here?" His voice was low, steady—dangerous. The kind of tone that made even seasoned soldiers take a step back.
The weight he placed on 'brother' was unmistakable—disdain curling around every syllable.
The man on the other end faltered, his anger deflating like a punctured balloon.
"It's not like I wanted to send him there," he stammered, though the protest sounded weak even to his own ears.
