The study was a sanctum of shadows, where light bowed before the weight of power. Heavy velvet drapes absorbed the dying sun's feeble attempts to illuminate the room, leaving only the flicker of a fire to dance on the dark wood panels. The scent of burning oak and aged leather filled the air, thick and intoxicating.
Dante stood by the massive oak desk, his frame tall and imposing, a silhouette carved from midnight itself. His fingers curled around a heavy crystal glass, the deep red wine swirling like liquid blood. His gaze was fixed on Avery, fathomless and sharp — the kind of stare that stripped away pretense and laid bare every hidden thought. It was not just a look; it was a command.
"Power," Dante said slowly, voice low and unyielding, "is never given. It is taken. It is forged in lies, in manipulation, in the cold cruelty others refuse to face."
He lifted the glass, his fingers tightening like a vice, and brought it to his lips with deliberate grace. The wine's bitterness mirrored the lessons he delivered. "To survive in my world, you must learn to deceive — not with clumsy falsehoods, but with the precision of a surgeon. To become invisible when you choose, and lethal when you strike."
Avery sat stiffly, her eyes locked on his. She felt the weight of his presence like a physical force pressing against her, demanding she rise to the challenge or be crushed beneath it.
Before she could answer, the door creaked open. The sound shattered the thick silence like a gunshot.
Evans stepped inside, the room seeming to contract around him. His stature was broad, muscular — a wall of quiet strength. His dark eyes were sharp, unyielding, reflecting a man who had weathered countless battles and emerged unbroken. The air around him was charged with tension, a dangerous calm that made the very walls hold their breath.
Dante's gaze flicked to Evans, unblinking and fathomless. "Evans."
"Dante," Evans replied, voice steady as steel. "Thought I'd drop by."
Dante's lips curved into a shadow of a smile, but his eyes remained cold, calculating. He lifted the crystal decanter, pouring wine into three glasses with measured precision. The sound of liquid filling glass punctuated the charged silence.
"Join us," Dante said, motioning toward the chair by the fire. "Wine?"
Evans accepted the glass, his fingers brushing Dante's briefly — a silent acknowledgment of their unspoken bond and rivalry. He took a slow sip, eyes flickering to Avery with a mix of appraisal and something darker, something unreadable.
Avery felt the intensity of his gaze settle on her like a blade.
Dante settled into his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. He held his glass with fingers like talons, his gaze never wavering from Avery.
"Truth," Dante began, voice a low rumble, "is a weapon — but only if you wield it carefully. Lies, when crafted well, become armor, shield, and sword all at once."
Evans leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, the firelight casting sharp angles across his face. "Rumors of unrest. East side's heating up faster than we predicted."
Dante's eyes narrowed, a flicker of something fierce crossing their depths. "That's why precision matters. This isn't a game of brute force, Evans. It's chess. Every move calculated. Every piece placed with intent."
Evans' lips twitched in a smirk. "Since when did you start caring about finesse?"
Dante's smile was thin, cold. "Since I realized the cost of failure."
The room grew thick with unspoken threats and promises.
Evans' gaze shifted again to Avery. This time longer. Intentional.
Dante noticed. His eyes locked onto Evans', a silent warning blazing between them like an electric current.
"Careful where your eyes wander," Dante said quietly, voice laced with steel but calm.
Evans met his gaze steadily, a challenge simmering beneath the surface. "She's not just a pawn."
"No," Dante agreed, his tone deadly serious. "She's my apprentice."
Avery swallowed hard, heart pounding in her chest as the meaning settled over her like a storm. This was more than a lesson in deceit. This was a war of wills — and she was at the center of it.
Dante's gaze flickered to Avery, sharp and assessing. "You will learn to control not just what they see, but what they think they see. The mask you wear will become indistinguishable from your true face."
Evans stood abruptly, the chair scraping softly against the floor. His eyes flicked to Avery once more, dark and intense. "Watch yourself. Not all who watch are friends."
Dante's smile was a razor's edge. "Nor all who protect."
As Evans exited, the fire crackled louder, shadows stretching like fingers across the room.
Dante stood, glass in hand, the last light catching on his cold, calculating eyes.
"Tomorrow," he said, voice low and final, "we begin in earnest."
Avery rose slowly, the weight of their world pressing down, but beneath it all, a fierce flame — the first spark of power she would claim as her first try