Drayke swallowed hard, his voice an octave higher than usual. "Y-Yeah. We all went to Brookhaven High together."

  He shot a quick glance at Storm, hoping for support, but all he got in return was a cold, unreadable stare. Drayke’s gut twisted. Axel, you son of a bitch, what kind of suicide mission is this?!

  Griffin's irritation deepened. "Why are you here?" He was still raw from the loss of his son, barely beginning to crawl out of his grief. Now, two nobodies had barged in, dredging it all back up again.

  Storm remained calm. "We heard about what happened to Tyler. We were devastated."

  "We want revenge," Drayke added quickly, forcing himself to sound convincing. "And we have information that might help you."

  Griffin exhaled sharply through his nose, unimpressed. "What kind of information?"

  Storm met his gaze steadily. "The Ironfang Syndicate is tearing itself apart. Their leader, Orion, is in serious trouble, is dying."

  Drayke clenched his fists, hoping to hell this worked. Axel had told them exactly what to say—every word calculated. If they screwed this up, they weren’t walking out of here alive.

  Griffin raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" Now, that got his attention.

  The other gang members around them turned as well, some chuckling under their breath, others watching with sharper interest.

  Griffin’s eyes narrowed. "You better not be fucking with me."

  He knew the Ironfang Syndicate inside and out. And Orion? That bastard was an absolute monster. No one in that gang could challenge him.

  The days of old-school crime bosses ruling with just money and influence were long gone. Now, strength was the only thing that mattered. And Orion was strong as hell.

  "If you’re wasting my time," Griffin warned, his voice low and edged with quiet menace, "you will live to regret it."

  The men around them were already shifting, fingers twitching toward their weapons.

  Drayke felt his stomach drop. His hands went clammy. But Storm? Stone-cold as ever. "See for yourself," he said smoothly.

  With a practiced motion, he pulled out his phone and tapped the screen, bringing up the video Axel had prepped for them. Then, he turned it toward Griffin.

  The room fell silent. Griffin’s sharp eyes zeroed in on the footage.

  There, on the screen, was Orion, locked in a vicious battle with a younger man. Every strike was ruthless—every movement meant to kill.

  But Griffin wasn’t focused on the fight itself. No—he was focused on Orion’s condition. The Ironfang leader looked like absolute shit. His entire shirt was soaked in blood. His stance was unsteady, his breathing labored. His normally unbreakable posture had cracks in it. One of his arms hung limply, twisted at an unnatural angle—useless.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  And the opponent? Bruised, battered, sent flying more than once—but still standing. And more than that—still fighting.

  Griffin’s gaze flicked across the screen. Bodies littered the ground—Ironfang members *dead*, strewn in all directions.

  And then, for a split second, the camera shifted—revealing Benjamin. The Ironfang Syndicate’s second-in-command. Blood dripping from his mouth. His usual confident smirk gone. And instead of stepping in—he was just watching.

  Griffin’s expression barely changed, but a sharp gleam entered his eyes. This wasn’t some bullshit rumor. This was real.

  Orion—the untouchable, the unbeatable—was wounded. Weakened. For the first time in a long time… He was vulnerable.

  Griffin shot to his feet, his chair scraping loudly against the concrete floor. His sharp gaze flicked back to the video, scanning every detail. He wasn’t just some clueless old-school gang leader—he was an Awakener himself, and his instincts screamed that what he was seeing was real.

  Orion was actually in trouble.

  Griffin’s breath came heavier, his fingers twitching against the table’s edge. His men, standing at attention around the room, held their collective breath. The Crimson Vipers and the Ironfang Syndicate had been at war for years, locked in a brutal stalemate.

  And now… now, the tides had finally shifted. His eyes snapped back to Storm and Drayke, sharp with suspicion. "How the hell did you two find out about this?"

  Storm fought the urge to sigh. These gangsters were so damn paranoid. He had no idea how to answer. Axel hadn’t given them a script for this part. There just wasn’t enough time. But he had to say something.

  "I don’t know." Storm kept his voice steady. "But, Uncle Griffin—if you don’t move now, this chance for revenge is gone."

  The words hit Griffin like a hammer. His expression darkened, shifting between caution and burning ambition. The men around him remained silent, hanging on his next move.

  They had been forced to swallow their pride for too long. Tyler’s death had crushed morale, leaving their gang a shadow of what it once was. But this—this was an opportunity they couldn’t afford to miss.

  Griffin’s fingers drummed against the table. What if it was a setup? What if these kids were leading him into a trap, straight into Ironfang territory to be cut down?

  His mind spun, then settled on a test. "If you’re really Tyler’s classmates..." His sharp gaze landed on them. "Tell me—what was his favorite thing in the world?"

  A simple question. One that any real friend of Tyler’s should know.

  Storm froze. Shit. His mind went blank. He barely remembered half the names of his classmates, let alone their damn hobbies. Tyler? What did he even like?!

  Tension thickened in the air. Griffin’s expression hardened.

  Storm’s heart pounded. He could *feel* Axel struggling in that fight, knew every second he wasted here was another second Axel had to survive alone.

  Think, think— But before he could blurt out some half-assed guess, Drayke suddenly leaned forward and spoke. "Oh, come on. Everyone knows that. He loved beautiful women the most."

  Storm’s stomach dropped. Are you out of your goddamn mind?! You don’t talk shit about a dead man in front of his grieving father! That was practically suicide!

  He clenched his jaw, preparing for Griffin’s inevitable explosion. But instead—

  Griffin let out a long breath. His tense shoulders eased. A faint smirk even tugged at the corner of his lips. "You really were his classmates."

  Storm blinked in disbelief.

  Griffin’s mood shifted in an instant. His moment of doubt was gone, replaced by cold, focused determination.

  "Everyone—get the crew together!" His voice snapped through the air like a whip. "Grab your weapons. We move out now!"

  The room *erupted* into action. Gang members bolted for their gear, shouting orders, readying themselves for war.

  Storm just stood there, still stunned.

  Meanwhile, Drayke tried very hard not to look smug. Good thing you brought me along, huh?

  Storm shook his head, then glanced back at the phone, watching the fight unfold in real-time. Axel was still standing.

  Hold on just a little longer. Storm’s fingers curled into fists.