Success turned sour. A fight Waxwell expected to dominate ended in disaster. Sabotage had tipped the scales, and he felt the sting of betrayal in a way no punch could match.
Pain flared, frustration boiled, but more than anything, Waxwell felt awareness sharpen. He understood that the city didn't forgive mistakes, and allies could be enemies in disguise.
Rising from the loss, bloodied but not broken, Waxwell swore vengeance—but carefully. Every move from now on would be measured, precise. He would strike back with the patience of a predator, turning betrayal into a weapon.