What is Hendrix doing here?
Florian didn't know.
And more importantly, he didn't understand why Hendrix wasn't the least bit afraid—despite the fact that Heinz looked mere seconds away from blasting him into ashes.
Yet Hendrix kept that same maddeningly calm smile on his lips as he exhaled, a quiet sigh escaping him. "You always did hate when I danced around a point. Fine, I'll be direct." His crimson eyes drifted downward—toward Florian.
And God.
Florian felt a chill creep down his spine.
It was unnerving just how closely Hendrix resembled Heinz, even though they were only half-brothers. From a distance, the similarities were bone-deep—same sharp jaw, same dark lashes framing blazing red eyes.
But where Heinz's presence was like a dagger to the throat, Hendrix's was something subtler. Lighter.
More… invasive, in its own way.
And the way Hendrix was looking at him—
