ATLAS
Alpha Igor's men drew their daggers, blades aimed at my guards. For a tense second, no one moved. The silence was deafening—the air, electric.
We just stared—two opposing, powerful alphas, locked in a deadly standoff. I half-expected Igor to lunge. His hand had disappeared into his jacket—an instinctive red flag.
But instead of a weapon, he pulled out a white handkerchief.
He raised his hand to signal his men to lower their weapons. I followed, gesturing to my own guards. Though they obeyed, I could feel their reluctance vibrating beneath their skin.
"It's a pleasure to have you here," I murmured, stepping forward, though from the look in his eyes, there was nothing pleasurable about it.
Not when his daughter was dead, and he came for blood.
Not when Aria was missing, and I was desperate for answers.
Still, Alpha Igor took the hand I extended. His grip was iron. Unforgiving. A handshake dressed as diplomacy. But both of us knew why we were here.
