They barely made it halfway up the stairs when a squad of underworld officers cut them off, black uniforms, badges that carried weight in this place. The leader's eyes locked on Xavier, then dropped to the gun still hanging loose in his hand.
"So," the officer said, voice sharp, "you're the one who spilled blood in the Crimson Star."
The other officers tensed, hands on weapons. It was about to get ugly fast.
Xavier didn't flinch. He just tilted his head, like he was already bored of the accusation. Before he could say a word, Jason stepped forward, his presence heavy enough to shift the mood. "No. That was me." His tone was flat, final. "They came at us, I handled it. Case closed."
The officers glanced at each other, unsure. One of them muttered, "Doesn't matter who swung the blade. Blood in here has a price. Someone has to—"
Jason's glare cut him off. "You want to start a case with me?" His voice dropped, low and dangerous. "Think very carefully before you try."
