"You are not going to face Uncle Moreau," Percival stated firmly, pulling Lyra into an empty hospital corridor.
His face was set in hard lines, jaw clenched with determination. The fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across his features, highlighting the intensity in his eyes.
"Percival, I can handle—" Lyra began.
"No." He cut her off, his voice leaving no room for argument. "You don't understand what kind of man he is."
Lyra crossed her arms. "I grew up in the Moreau household. I think I have some idea."
"Growing up under his shadow isn't the same as facing him directly," Percival countered. "Uncle Moreau doesn't negotiate. He dictates terms, and anyone who stands in his way gets crushed."
A nurse walked past, eyeing them curiously. Percival lowered his voice.
"He once had a business rival's son hospitalized for months just to send a message. The man never pressed charges—he was too afraid."
