The ice in my glass had long since melted, turning the amber liquid into a pale, lukewarm puddle. I didn't drink it. I just kept swirling it, listening to the soft, rhythmic clink of the glass against my ring, watching the fire die down to a heap of glowing red ash.
For ten years, I had been the one who kept the lights on. I was the guy who mapped the routing loops, bypassed the firewalls, and built the invisible walls that kept the Reed legacy from crumbling under the weight of its own enemies. If Marcus was the muscle and Asher was the mind, I was the nervous system. I knew every wire, every server, and every single digital pulse that traveled through our territories.
Yet, an hour ago, I had been cast out into the cold with a single word.
No. For the tenth time. I have suddenly become a second to nothing to Asher don. Just because I failed to trace a particular location which was next to impossible to do.
