LUCIAN VITALE'S POINT OF VIEW
"How are you, hmm? Been far too long. You've grown—I thought you'd be smaller in person. I watched you on the feeds while you were in there. Glad you survived. Proves you deserve to live. I suppose I ought to be proud-"
"Cut the crap, old man." My words caught in my throat as cold metal pressed to the side of my head. A gun, steady as stone, held by someone just out of sight.
I kept my gaze locked on the man across from me, seated behind an ornate desk of dark, polished wood. We were in his office-only us three: him, me, and the armed guard by the door. Percy, Kiddeon, and Keiran were already asleep in the rooms they'd been given, their bodies finally resting after years of running.
He laughed, sharp as broken glass cutting through the quiet. "Some manners you've got. Is that how you treat the man who-"
"You're not my grandfather. Just someone I used to know." My voice was flat, hollow as a drum.
