Ocean and Aspen mingled effortlessly among young executives near the balcony rail—bright smiles, sharp eyes, forgettable on purpose. Sage had drifted a few steps deeper intothe crowd again, glass in hand, gaze flicking between servers and access doors with the precision of a man running quiet code in his head.
Law had peeled off to the room’s edge beside Memphis—calm, unreadable, the kind of presence that made space without asking for it. Syx and Vale stayed within reach, a moving perimeter that never looked like one.
And at his shoulder—Viper stood, all clean heat and smoke beneath the polish.
The man moved through this world like he’d always belonged in it, quiet and watchful, reading the room with the same precision he brought to a battlefield. Every so often, Viper’s hand brushed his lower back in passing—steadying, grounding—subtle enough that no one watching would name it.
They weren’t hiding anymore.
Standing together like this had marked them—power, money, intent wrapped tight.
And they were being watched.
Viper leaned in just enough that only Titus could hear him.
“Eyes just shifted. Balcony, left.”
Titus didn’t look. He took another sip instead. “Hale?”
“Or someone who answers to him.”
Titus took a slow sip, eyes lifting to the upper balconies.
Something was about to shift.
Whatever was coming next was already in motion.
The room cost more than most people made in a year.
Viper had felt it the second he stepped inside.
The ceiling was high—deliberately so—coffered panels washed in indirect light that softened every edge. Walls dressed in silk-textured panels the color of old champagne. No art that challenged. No angles that threatened. This wasn’t indulgence. This was authority made comfortable.
Music drifted in from the main floor, muffled just enough to feel intentional. Strings, low and rich. Glassware chimed somewhere beyond the door. A party designed to suggest intimacy while keeping everyone at arm’s length.
Viper stood near the bar, back half-turned to the room, posture loose enough to pass for a civilian.
His eyes moved anyway—measured, methodical.
Sightlines.
Reflections.
The way people clustered where the lighting favored them.
Nothing wrong.
That was the problem.
Memphis stood near the edge of the room, broad shoulders relaxed, eyes tracking exits and faces with the patience of a man who’d learned where violence liked to hide. He caught Viper’s glance and gave a faint nod—everything smooth. For now.
Then Viper’s in-ear comms vibrated once.
Not a priority ping.
Not a panicked voice.
Just a call.
