The room was quiet in the way only dangerous places ever were.
No wind.
No footsteps.
Not even the hum of electricity.
Ethan stood at the center, blood drying on his knuckles, staring at the man kneeling in front of him.
"Say it again," Ethan said calmly.
The man swallowed hard. "I… I already told you everything."
Ethan smiled.
That was the problem.
Everything this man had said fit too neatly—names, dates, motives, all lined up like a story written in advance. Someone wanted Ethan to believe this version of the truth.
And that meant the real truth was buried deeper.
Ethan stepped closer and crouched down, bringing himself to eye level.
"You know," he said softly, "most people think silence is protection. They're wrong."
The man's eyes flickered.
Silence was a currency.
And someone had already paid for it.
Ethan stood up and turned away. "You can go."
The man froze. "What?"
"I said go."
For a brief second, hope returned to the man's face. He scrambled to his feet and rushed toward the exit.
He never reached it.
The gunshot echoed once—short, final.
Ethan didn't look back.
He knew exactly what would happen next.
By morning, rumors would spread.
By noon, alliances would shift.
And by nightfall, someone powerful would realize their message had failed.
That was the point.
Ethan walked out into the cold air, pulling his coat tighter. His phone vibrated.
One message.
Unknown Number:
You shouldn't have done that.
Ethan typed a reply without stopping.
Ethan:
You shouldn't have made it necessary.
He slipped the phone into his pocket, eyes sharp, mind steady.
This wasn't escalation.
This was confirmation.
The game had finally acknowledged him as a threat.
And once that happened, there was only one rule left:
There would be no more warnings.