Zarek POV THE NEXT MORNING… The black sedan waited under the morning mist like a predator waiting for its prey, its polished body gleaming faintly under the muted sunlight. I felt my pulse quicken before I even approached. The moment I saw him, my father stepping out, long coat brushing his shoes, his expression cold, calculating—I knew the stakes were higher than usual. He didn’t look at me at first, didn’t acknowledge my presence. I stayed a few feet back, hands buried in my coat pockets, boots tapping lightly on the wet asphalt. My father’s voice, calm and composed, carried across the air like a blade. “Zarek,” he said finally, eyes meeting mine, sharp and unflinching. “We need to talk.” I nodded, silent. My dragon instincts hummed low in my chest, a warning thrumming through my bones, but I forced my shoulders to relax, forcing a casual air I didn’t feel. There was no room for defiance—not here, not now. We slipped into the sedan. The interior smelled faintly of leather and
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