Before Win could touch him, King raised the phone and smashed it hard against the floor.
The sharp crack of glass echoed through the room, cutting through the silence like thunder.
Win froze, his hand suspended in the air. He looked down at the wreckage: the shattered screen, the tiny, glittering shards. He slowly lifted his gaze back to King.
"What in God's name did you just do?" Win's voice was unnervingly soft, a dangerous calm settling over his features.
King did not flinch, but a fierce, sickening tremor started in his chest and ran through his limbs.
"You smashed your phone," Win continued, stepping closer, "because you didn't want me to see what you're hiding." His voice sharpened, now cutting like the glass on the floor. "Tell me, King. What is so damning that it warrants this display?"
King couldn't speak. He was shaking his head, a movement so small it was almost a seizure. He felt suffocated by Win's intense, burning glare.
