“You son of a—”
Kael’s voice was quiet now, too calm.“Sleep it off, Wraith.”
The world tilted sideways.Drew fought to stay upright, every muscle rebelling.His pulse thundered in his ears.Through the blur, Kael was still there, still steady, still impossibly real.
“Why?”Drew forced out.“You couldn’t just walk away?”
Kael crouched beside the bed, close enough that Drew could feel his breath.“I told you before.We need to talk.”
His hand came up, fingers brushing Drew’s jaw with a touch too familiar for a stranger.“You deserve the headache coming for you,” he said softly.
Drew would’ve laughed if he could.Yeah,he thought as the dark swallowed him.On that, we agree.
****
The first thing Drewregistered was the sound—the slow, deliberate drip of water onto concrete.He opened his eyes to the dim yellow glow of a single bulb swinging lazily from a frayed wire above him.The room was small, square, and cold—all rough concrete and shadows.A place built to break people.
He shifted instinctively, and pain flared through his wrists.Thick steel cuffs pinned his hands behind the chair.His ankles were cinched just as tight, heavy industrial zip-ties reinforced with tape.The chair itself wasn’t just bolted down—it was welded to a thick steel plate on the floor.Whoever had done this hadn’t wanted him to move an inch.
Rookie mistake,Drew thought, testing the play in the bindings.You never underestimate the man you’re holding.
His right thumb ached already—he’d need to dislocate it to get free.He could.He’d done it before.But not yet.Timing was everything.
A low scrape echoed from the shadows, and a man stepped into the cone of light.
“Mano.”Drew always figured it was best to try to get his interrogators off their game as soon as possible.
Tane Ikaita—code name Mano—filled the space like a threat made flesh.Broad-shouldered and solid, his dark skin inked from wrist to shoulder with sharp-edged Polynesian patterns that told stories Drew couldn’t read but respected all the same.His arms were folded across a chest that looked carved out of stone, black t-shirt stretched tight over muscle.The shark tattoo, the reason for his call sign, on his right forearm seemed to move when he flexed.His face was serious, unreadable, and framed by short dark hair that fell over his brow.That kind of face had seen violence and didn’t flinch from it.
“You know, my call sign suits me,” Tane said, voice low and steady.“Mano means shark, and it has deep cultural significance here in the islands for my people.We are viewed as guardians of our family, our‘ohana.”
Drew gave a dry chuckle that came out rough.“You should really put that on a t-shirt?I reckon the tourists would go crazy for that.”
Tane’s expression didn’t change.“You’ve done this before.”
“Once or twice.”
“Then you know how this goes.”
“Yeah.You ask questions I won’t answer.You leave me here to think about it.Then you come back, ask again, a little meaner.”Drew shrugged.“Circle of life.”
Tane pulled up a chair, the scrape of metal on concrete loud in the quiet.“You don’t have to make this hard, brother.”
Drew huffed a laugh.“I’m not your brother.”
Tan leaned forward, his gaze intense.“You were, once.Because of Kael.”
The name hit harder than a punch.Drew kept his face blank, but the pause was too long, the silence too thick.Tane caught it.His mouth tilted slightly, victory in the curve.
“Ah.So, he hasn’t told you yet.”
“Told me what?”
Tane didn’t answer.He leaned back, watching Drew with that calculating calm that made his size even more intimidating.
“How long have I been here?”Drew asked.
“Forty-eight hours.You were out cold for the first twelve.You talk in your sleep, by the way.”
