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As Ezra Kane stepped into the elevator heading to the 47th floor, he was hit with a scent that reminded him of ambition mixed with a certain sharpness, like ozone. The sterile hum inside the elevator rubbed against his already frayed nerves. Straightening his tie—a part of his corporate facade that felt as uncomfortable as a long-worn lie—he braced himself for what lay ahead. The executive offices of Apex Dynamics formed a maze of glass and steel, each polished workspace a seemingly perfect cover for the darker secrets lurking beneath New Avalon's surface.
Ezra felt the cold weight of his athame, a slender blade of enchanted iron hidden beneath his shirt, pressing against his spine—a continual reminder to stay alert and keep the curse at bay. Today, the tension in his gut was more intense, pulling him forward like a taut string. He reached the end of the hallway, where Kael Voss's office stood, its glossy black door engraved with runes that faintly glowed under the bright lights. Powerful wards, crafted with precise, dark magic, warned of danger to anyone half-aware of such things. Ezra, caught between his human and abyssal natures, felt that danger in his blood, a reminder of the twenty-eight years he had spent evading the endless cravings of the Demiverse.
He knocked hard, the sound ringing out like a challenge, and the door opened silently. Kael Voss leaned casually against his desk, exuding a calculated menace, his molten amber eyes drinking in the light. "Mr. Kane. You're late," he said, his voice smooth yet laced with danger, every word curling like smoke. Tall and impeccably dressed in a tailored black suit, he radiated power that sent a jolt through Ezra, making his curse flare stubbornly to life. The room felt constrictive with Kael's presence, enveloped in an almost primal tension.
"Got held up," Ezra replied, deliberately avoiding Kael's penetrating gaze. Those eyes seemed to see through him, uncovering too much. His fingers twitched instinctively, craving the comfort of his athame's hilt.
"Excuses bore me." Kael stepped closer, his presence a consuming heat that brushed against Ezra's skin. The air crackled with energy, the kind only a demon's blood could conjure. "So tell me, Ezra… what's a half-shadow doing in my territory?"
Ezra felt his heart race, his curse buzzing just beneath the surface, eager to respond and submit. He grasped the athame through his shirt, anchoring himself against the pull. "You tell me," he shot back, meeting Kael's gaze despite the warning bells ringing in his head. "Your sigils messed up my code downstairs. Care to explain?"
Kael's low, dangerous laugh slithered through the air, sending a shiver down Ezra's spine. "Bold. I like that." He moved around Ezra like a predator assessing its prey, his polished shoes making no sound on the black marble floor. "Your little hack triggered my wards. Impressive… for a mongrel."
The insult stung, cutting deep, but Ezra stood firm. "Call it what you want. I'm here to fix it."
"Fix it?" Kael's fingers brushed Ezra's jaw in a brief touch that sparked a rush of heat. "Or are you here to break it?"
In that moment, the room seemed to pulse, the wards flaring red for an instant. A flicker in Ezra's vision showed haunting images—claws, wings, a throne of bones lost in ash. Was it Kael's true form, or just the curse distorting his perception? The overwhelming pull urged him to yield, to bow to whatever game Kael was playing.
Taking a step back to break their contact, Ezra replied, "I don't play games, Voss."
"Oh, Ezra." Kael's grin revealed sharp, hungry teeth. "You already are."
Their words hung heavily in the air, thick with ominous promise. Ezra's curse throbbed more insistently, a beat syncing with the flickering neon lights outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. New Avalon's skyline burned crimson, a city built on secrets and blood. Somewhere within its depths, their world was watching, waiting for Ezra to make his move.
Would he fight or flee? The choice was never truly his to make.
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