Millers chuckled. "You're underestimating him. Axel didn't just kill her. He killed three of them. Zoey, Varek from the Havoc Division, and Camden from the Vanderbilt family."

Even Vince's usually calm eyes flickered. "That's… unlikely."

None of those three were pushovers. If Axel had really taken them all down alone, that meant his power was already brushing against Level 5.

Millers leaned back and started to explain slowly. "Here's what happened. Axel was in the middle of a compression transformation when they showed up—hell-bent on killing him. I managed to hold out for a few minutes, nearly got myself killed in the process. Then Varek—unlucky bastard—cut straight through the iron sphere I'd thrown up, and Axel dropped him in a single blow."

"I blacked out right after that. Didn't see what came next. But I'm betting Axel finished the rest."

Silence again. Vince and Rosaline sat stunned. If it was true, then those three had basically dug their own graves.

Vince finally sighed and gave Millers' shoulder a firm pat. "You did well."

Rosaline, however, narrowed her eyes. "How long did you really last against them?"

Millers' face went red. "Rosaline, come on. I've got stamina. I don't just give in after a couple of minutes."

Before he could brag further, Rosaline reached over and twisted his ear hard. Vince turned away, hiding a smirk.

.....

Later that night, across the Western Bridgeport bazaar, the streets buzzed with neon lights and chatter. A man in a baseball cap slipped through the crowd. He spotted an old man in the distance, tugged his cap lower, and kept walking.

....

"No wonder Axel looked so off earlier," Rosaline muttered once they were alone. She could see the worry written all over him. "You was useless."

Millers snapped. "I nearly died back there." He rubbed his temples. "And now I've got this damn headache. Feels like I forgot something important."

Rosaline scoffed. "Please. You haven't touched a woman in over ten days—you're just horny."

The jab, meant as a joke, lit up something in Millers' eyes. He clapped his hands together. "Fuck, you're right. Western Bridgeport's supposed to have some killer nightclubs. I'm going right now."

Before she could respond, he bolted out the door. Rosaline and Vince glanced at each other and broke into quiet smiles.

Once the door closed, Rosaline lit up a cigarette with practiced ease. Moonlight leaked through the curtains, sketching soft shadows across her sharp, mature face. Vince sat opposite, a faint glow flickering across his profile with each drag of his cigarette.

"What are you thinking about?" Rosaline asked, smoke curling from her lips. "You planning to report this to Xander?"

Vince shook his head. "If Axel doesn't want us to know, then we don't know. Simple as that."

Rosaline chuckled, exhaling a thin stream of smoke. "You've gotten shameless, you know that?" She walked toward the door, hips swaying, and glanced back with a smile. "But I kinda like it."

When she was gone, Vince leaned against the wall and murmured to himself, "Yeah… shameless."

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His eyes hardened a moment later. The truth was, the moment he understood who Axel was—and decided to recruit him, Vince had already chosen his compromises.

...........

The neon glow of the bar washed over the crowd, exotic rhythms thumping through the speakers as beautiful dancers swayed on the floor. Miller leaned back with a satisfied sigh.

"Yeah… this is my kind of place."

His backache and pounding headache vanished the moment he stepped inside.

He slid into a booth and ordered a lemonade, deciding not to rush. No need. With his looks—mature, weathered, a little mysterious—he'd learned long ago that women usually came to him.

But tonight… nothing.

"That guy might be handsome, but look at that body. Skinny as a stick."

"Yeah, he looks weak as hell."

The whispers stung. Miller wasn't short, but compared to the thickset locals, his lean frame didn't exactly impress. He frowned, considering a change of strategy—when he noticed her.

A woman in white, sitting alone beneath the dim lights. Elbow on the bar, chin resting on her hand, her stillness cut through the noise around her. Beautiful. Striking. Almost unreal.

Miller's heart jumped. Her?

It was the same stunning woman he and Axel had spotted at the airport.

He smoothed his jacket, straightened his posture, and crossed the floor with deliberate calm. By the time he reached her, his earlier scrappy air had melted into something older, steadier, refined.

"Margaret." He didn't bother with the cliché opener. Instead, he glanced at the cocktail in front of her. "You know, they say this drink is a toast to a dead lover. The lemon stands for bitterness, the salt for tears."

His voice was low, smooth. He smiled. "A woman with a story, huh?"

To his delight, she smiled back. Good start. He lifted a hand to order himself a drink—

—but a massive figure suddenly pushed in beside him.

"Hey, bartender! My drink ready yet?" the man barked.

The bartender nodded at the glass in front of the woman. "Right here."

The woman in white slid aside as the brute grabbed the margarita. Then the bartender set a new glass on the counter. "Ma'am, your lemonade."

Miller froze, lips twitching. Shit.

The woman let out a soft, almost musical laugh. "Plenty of pretty girls here tonight. You should try your luck elsewhere."

Her tone was light, but her eyes carried no mockery. They were calm—like a still lake.

"You've got the wrong idea," Miller said quickly. "I just wanted to make a friend. Name's Axel." He raised his own glass.

"Angelica." She lifted her lemonade in return.

Miller paused a beat, then grinned. "Angelica. Nice. A medicinal herb, right?"

That earned her a flicker of surprise. "You know that too?"

Thanks, Alice, he muttered under his breath, then waved it off with modesty. "Picked up a little here and there."

"Why drink alone?" he asked.

She tilted her glass, her voice barely above the noise. "Middle-aged people have their share of troubles."

"Middle-aged?!" Miller nearly spat his drink. She looked no older than nineteen—if that.

"Yeah, little brother." Angelica's smile was serene, almost teasing. "I'm thirty-nine. Not exactly the girl you're looking for."

Miller blinked. Was this a brush-off? Still, the more she dodged, the more intrigued he felt.

Then came a booming laugh from behind.

"Thirty-nine? Then you're perfect. My master likes mature women. Come on, sweetheart—join us. Please him, and you'll live like a queen in Bridgeport."

A hulking man leered, jerking a thumb at the largest booth near the dance floor. A cluster of men sat there, drinks in hand, all eyes on her.

Angelica's answer was soft, but firm. "No. I'm fine here."

"You refusing me?" the brute growled.

"So what?" Angelica's voice didn't tremble.

Before Miller could even think, the man reached out.

But instead of grabbing Angelica, his hand was seized in Miller's grip.

"Get lost." Miller's boot connected with the man's chest, sending him crashing back.

"You bastard!" The brute staggered to his feet, rage in his eyes. Seven or eight men at the booth stood at once, glaring daggers at Miller.

Angelica pulled her hand free, smiling faintly. "Well? What now?"

"Now…" Miller turned, sizing up the wall of muscle closing in. His jaw tightened. Then he grabbed Angelica's hand. "We run."

For the first time, her composure cracked—just slightly, a flash of surprise before her lips curved in a quiet smile. She didn't resist.

They burst out into the street, Miller dragging her along as shouts and curses followed. Only after several blocks did he finally stop, catching his breath, grinning at her.

It was a move he'd pulled before, back in Ebonveil with Axel. Back then, it had worked like a charm.

But Angelica's gaze stayed cool, unreadable.

"Angelica," Miller said, still grinning, "can I add you?"

She didn't answer—just pointed down the street.

The ground shook. Hooves thundered. Dozens of riders poured in from every corner, mounted on massive, reddish-brown unicorn-horses.

Miller's face tightened. "Unicorn cavalry…?"

At the head rode a young man with a predatory smile—the same one the brute in the bar had called *Master.*

The brute Miller had kicked dismounted, eyes blazing.

"Well," Miller muttered, forcing a crooked smile, "this just got complicated."

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