Selena’s office sprawled like a damn cathedral, high ceilings, polished hardwood floors gleaming under a fat chandelier that dripped light across the room. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined one wall, letting the city’s gray haze filter in, while the others flexed with dark oak bookshelves, stacked tight with leather-bound tomes, awards. She sat behind a hulking mahogany desk, throne-like chair groaning soft as she leaned forward, facing John, face all serious.

  She was a real sight, brunette hair swept into a loose, careless bun, tendrils spilling free to brush her neck. A pair of gsses rode low on the bridge of her nose, sharpening that MILF swagger into something fierce and untouchable. Her suit screamed professional, charcoal gray, cut sharp, jacket draped over an armrest, leaving the white dress shirt, colr unbuttoned wide, framing a chest that’d stop traffic. Those curves pushed hard against the fabric, buttons straining, gaps prying open to tease a sliver of bck bra underneath, big, bold, and begging for a stare, as if she didn’t give a damn who noticed.

  On any other day, John’d be locked in, eyes crawling over her slow, drinking in every inch of this MILF dean, his kind of candy. She’d be a feast, prime cut, served hot. But not today. His guts were still twisting from that alley hellscape. It stuck like tar, bitter and heavy, souring any heat Selena’s frame might’ve sparked. He slumped in the cushy guest chair across from her, jaw clenched, fighting the churn, too fucked up to py the game.

  “So, Dean Selena, how can I help you?” John leaned back in the plush chair, voice ft, eyes flicking over her, trying to focus on the beautiful view of Selena to ease off the morning’s gore that’s still souring his gut.

  But Selena’s next move threw him off. She stood up slowly, then bowed deep, damn near reverent. Her chest thumped the desk as she dipped, those strained buttons creaking louder, bck bra peeking wider for a split second, a deep, tempting cleavage jumped right into his eyes. “John, first, I need to apologize for everything Anthony’s done to you,” she said, voice low, earnest as hell, every word heavy with quiet guilt.

  Well, shit, not every rich chick’s a Camil clone. John’s brain actually smirked a bit thinking of Camil’s rich-bitch bite. But he quickly shifted back to Selena.

  “Dean Selena, your apology’s a little te to the party,” he shot back, crossing his arms tight. “Four years ago, when your precious son started shitting on me, that’s when you should’ve said sorry. Not now. And I’ve already got my payback anyway, and your groveling doesn’t change much. So let’s skip the dance and spit it out. What do you want from me?”

  Selena straightened, hand nudging her gsses back up. Her face twisted, cheeks flushing faint under that educator’s poise. She meant it, that apology. The bullying of his son only hit her when John took that bridge dive into the hospital, too te to catch it then. After, she’d been all about reining Anthony in, forgetting the apology she owed. “I really am sorry, John,” she pressed, eyes searching his. But he stayed stonewall, arms still locked, guard up. She sighed, pushing on. “I figured you got your revenge. Anthony’s scared of you now, as I can tell. I asked you to come here because I need help. He’s been… off tely. I thought you might know why.”

  Helping Anthony? You shitting me, dy? Helping my fucking bully? John’s gut fred, mockery itching to spill, but he swallowed it. He came here to sniff out Anthony’s deal anyway. He’s skipping the academy, and it all lined up too neat with the city’s bloody spiral. “I don’t know,” he said, voice level. “Just that he’s ditched school for weeks. This is all very weird. My payback was months ago, and I didn’t do anything to him ever since. If he’s ducking cause of me, he’d have done it sooner, not now. Maybe you’ve got something I can work with, dig into why he’s flipping out?”

  Selena hesitated, her fingers brushing the desk edge, like she was bracing for something ugly. “He’s home all day tely,” she started, voice dipping low, confessional. “Truth is, he’s treated me like an enemy forever. But now… he’s sweet to me, like when he was little. But the thing is, he’s gone every night, barely sleeping at home. I ask, and he lies—‘staying at my girlfriend’s,’ ‘partying with buddies.’ I see through it. He’s full of shit on that.”

  John’s brow creased, her words pinging odd in his head. “Anthony’s got some serious mommy issues,” he said, slow, piecing it. “When I hit him back, I observed that he’s got this clingy streak for you, deep down. All that ‘tough guy, hate mom’ crap? Probably just a facade to prove himself an alpha male, in front of his friends maybe. Being nice to you actually means he’s showing his real self, so something rattled him bad.”

  Her face flickered, mixed bag of feelings spilling out. Relief hit first. John saying Anthony’s new sweetness was legit warmed her, a mom’s quiet win. But dread chased it fast—what flipped him then?

  “Thank you, John,” she murmured, voice catching, grateful but shaky. “That means something, hearing it as his mother. But I don’t know what’s got him like this.”

  John sighed, long, rough, air hissing out. Helping Anthony? Maybe, maybe not—but talking with Selena, he couldn’t hate her. Partly cause she was so fucking hot—those curves, that soft authority—but more, she was just a worried mom, frayed at the edges, trying to hold it together. Cssic John, women melted him, always did.

  “Fine,” he grunted, another sigh slipping free. “Tell me when he heads out each night. I’ll figure what he’s up to, but a fair warning, you might hate what I find.”

  The talk was done. John shoved up from the chair, ready to leave, his legs itching to hit the door. But Selena’s voice snagged him mid-step, soft but firm. “John, hold up for a sec.” He froze, half-turned, as she leaned forward, gsses glinting under the chandelier’s glow. “I know you have something to do with Philip and his two buddies disappearing. It all went down after you got tight with Liam, their punching bag. I’m not digging into it. They’re scum, and scum belongs where scum rots. I just wanna say that Anthony’s not like them.”

  John’s jaw ticked, seriously? He couldn’t help the eyeroll creeping up. Typical mom goggles here, every kid’s a saint in their own mom’s book. Anthony’s rap sheet on old John still burned fresh, hard to not lump him with the trash pile. But then again, something about Selena tugged at him. She could’ve stormed in swinging, threatening to spill on Philip and his crew, leverage that shit to twist his arm. But she didn’t. She waited till he’d signed on to help, then id it out, quiet, no bckmail, even giving his payback a nod. Respect flickered, grudging, sure, but there. This woman, all worried mom vibes and soft edges, was getting under his skin. Couldn’t stay hard-assed with her, no matter how he tried.

  “Alright, I hear you,” he muttered, pausing, words hanging heavy. Then, against his better judgment, he tacked on, “Look, Nexis City’s a mess right now. Don’t… don’t go out at night, alright? Stay safe.”

  He didn’t wait for her reply, just spun fast, boots thudding on the hardwood, out of that sprawling office before she could hit him with anything else. Left Selena standing there, stunned, a weird warmth prickling up her chest, staring at the empty doorway.

  Outside, dusk was bleeding in, sky bruising purple, streets humming low as the city wound down. John fished his phone out, thumbs jamming a quick text to Seo-young: “Got a new lead. Meet me, need you to tail Anthony Vanderbilt with me, a school mate.” Her reply buzzed back fast. “John, you nailed the weapon call. But forensics says the shoulders and upper arms were crushed, hand-squeezed. But the grip size suggests no human hand could pull that off. I’m coming now for your tracking gig. You’re expining how the hell you knew this.”

  He didn’t bother texting back, just dug out a smoke, sparked it with a flick, and pulled deep. Stood there solo, sucking it down till the ember glowed red-hot. The smoke curled thick, hazing the evening chill. He then stubbed it out slowly on the pavement. With a grunt, he started walking, steady, deliberate, toward Anthony’s pce, mind churning, gears grinding.

  The docks crouched low under a shroud of night, faint yellow mps buzzing weak, throwing jagged patches of light that drowned fast in the fog. Wind cut sharply off the bck water, spping against the pier. Anthony lingered near a massive shipping container, his cap yanked down, mask tugged high, face buried so deep even his own mother wouldn’t recognize him now. John only knew because he’d stalked him straight from his house.

  Around Anthony milled a pack of gangbanger types, tattooed necks, scarred knuckles, leather jackets shiny with grime, hard boys who moved like they’d slit your throat for a nickel and ugh about it.

  “Get this shit moving, now!” Anthony’s voice cracked through the mask, high and jagged. His nerves’ frying him raw, making him bounce like a coked-up pitbull. One thug, bald, pockmarked, fumbled a pry bar, scraping it loud against the container’s edge. Anthony spun, fury fshing. “What’s your fucking problem?” He roared, and charged over and spped the guy in the face. “Do your fucking job, you useless pricks!” The gang flinched, all heads ducking, but kept at it, prying the rusted doors, chains cnking loud. Anthony didn’t stick around though. He stormed off toward a tin-roofed shack a few yards off, smming the door shut behind him. Left the crew working alone.

  One wiry punk, gold tooth glinting, sidled up to a beefier one, smirking sleazy. He mimed a slow, filthy grind with his hips, voice low and greasy. “This batch, new ‘good’ huh? Think we could… ”

  But he couldn't finish. A thud cut the air. Door of the shack banging open, and a body sailed out, crashing hard onto the pier. One of their own, stocky, tatted, leather jacket torn, sprawled limp, neck twisted wrong, blood trickling fresh from a smashed nose. Worst part is, no one heard a thing about how and when this happened.

  Every thug was shivering, knowing that this had happened too often tely with this new boss. Anyone got any ideas about the “goods”? Taken care of, like this.

  But still, two lugs just grabbed the corpse, and chucked it over the edge with a dull spsh, as they knew it would be them next if they didn't. The wiry punk and his buddy froze, faces draining, then spun toward the shack, shouting shaky, “Sorry, boss! Sorry!”

  “What the hell are they doing?” Seo-young muttered, peering through binocurs. She crouched beside John on a scrubby hilltop overlooking the docks, far enough that the pier’s fog and grime blurred into a hazy smear, close enough to catch the glint of that container under the sodium mps. Both of them were rigged up just like Anthony, caps tugged low, masks pulled tight over their noses, faces swallowed in shadow. She’d bitched about it earlier, “why the fuck do we need this? There’s no way they can see our face from that far.” She also jabbed John with a smirk. “What, you scared or something, tough guy?” He’d just grunted “just in case”.

  John didn’t answer her question now. He didn’t even twitch. His own binocurs stayed locked, lenses zeroed on that tin-roof shack Anthony’d stormed into. Eyes narrowed, unblinking, tracking a silhouette framed in the grimy window, a dark smudge against the faint glow inside. That figure stood still, head tilted, facing out, straight at him, or so it felt. A cold prickle crawled up his neck, but he didn’t budge, just stared back, jaw tight. He stayed like that for a while, and finally spoke.

  “Those two clowns, they were talking about the ‘goods.’ And next thing, that body gets thrown out. So that's a warning, tell them to keep their hands off.”

  Seo-young’s head snapped to him, binocurs dropping an inch. “How’d you catch that?” she pressed, squinting, half-doubting.

  “Lip-reading,” he tossed back, short and ft, his eyes still pinned to that shack, not giving her a gnce.

  Right then, Seo-young’s phone buzzed, slicing through the hilltop’s dead quiet. She yanked it out, screen fshing Min-jun’s name, bright as a damn fre in the pitch-bck sprawl around them. In that sea of shadows, it might as well have been a spotlight screaming here we are. John’s head whipped toward her, voice hissing urgent. “Hang it up, now!” Too te, she’d already swiped it live, and Min-jun’s voice crackled through, tinny but pissed. “Who’s this guy, Seo-young? You owe me an expnation. What’s going on?” She opened her mouth, fumbling, “Min-jun, it’s not—”

  John didn’t wait. He lunged, snatched the phone from her grip, and killed the call with a hard jab. Screen went dark, but the damage was done. Seo-young rounded on him, eyes bzing as she snapped. “What the hell, John? You don’t get to step into my private life!” But he ignored her, didn’t even flinch, just swung his binocurs back up, zeroing on that shack. The silhouette in the window sharpened, still fuzzy through the haze, but clear enough: the bastard waved, slow and smug, right at him.

  “Fuck,” John growled, low and bitter, “just like I figured, [Eagle Vision].”

  Seo-young blinked, thrown, what the hell’s that supposed to mean? But John wasn’t sticking around. He spun, and hooked an arm around her waist hard and fast, yanking her up from her crouch.

  “Move!” John barked, yanking Seo-young toward their car, parked a quarter-mile back through the scrub. She stumbled, yelping, boots kicking dirt, but he hauled her fast, breath rough, vanishing into the night.