The corridor leading to the outer wing of the VIP lounge was empty.
Not just empty of people—empty of presence.
The kind of silence that doesn't arise by chance, but seems… organized. As if the environment itself had been deliberately emptied, removing any distraction, any witness, any unwanted interference.
He walked without haste.
Dante's steps were light, almost carefree, echoing softly across the polished floor, but there was something profoundly wrong with the way he moved. It wasn't the walk of someone relaxed. It was the walk of someone absolutely self-assured, who didn't need to look around, who didn't need to check anything.
Because he already knew.
Everything was already in place.
The phone in his hand seemed too small to carry the weight of that conversation.
