A few shadowy figures loitered around the bungalow, cigarette smoke curling lazily into the air.
Nearby, others clustered at a small table, cards in hand, gambling.
With Dante and Stott absent, caution had loosened its grip. No enemy had ever dared cross into this domain.
And the one they were guarding was only a doctor—hardly worth the trouble.
A sharp clap echoed from the doorway.
"Dinner's ready... tonight's menu is special..." Meena announced.
A lavish dinner hardly seemed out of place, with a wedding taking place that night.
Some of them drifted toward the dining area, while the rest stayed where they were.
"Let's eat together. No need to take turns," she encouraged.
They glanced at each other, hesitating. They couldn't all leave their posts at once.
Then Griffin appeared behind Meena, his sharp gaze sweeping over the men.
"It's an order from Sir. He'd be displeased if any of you refused to celebrate his wedding day."
