The door opened, and a man stepped in with the kind of presence that immediately put my instincts on edge. His scent was wrong—slick, calculated, like a predator hiding behind polished manners. The assistant behind him carried a fruit basket, but nothing about this visit felt like goodwill.
"Francis, I heard you were so upset you ended up here," he said, smiling as if he cared. "So I came to visit."
The moment my father saw him, everything changed. His face flushed deep red, his aura flaring in sharp, defensive waves.
"What a despicable man you are, Lawrence Clavell!" he roared, his voice thick with fury. "Do you take me for weak prey? Get out of here!"
My body tensed instantly. I studied the man in front of me—well-dressed, composed, but his eyes gave him away. There was hunger there, the kind that had nothing to do with concern. I didn't need to guess long to understand.
He was after our territory.
