A young man smiled as he spun in his swivel chair, speaking to someone on his phone. His eyes were fox-like—hungry, predatory. Playfulness was his mask, a shell hiding what lay beneath. He glanced at his reflection, admiring his well-combed raven-brown hair as his Adam's apple bobbed, and he ended the call.
He licked his lower lip and toyed with a knife.
In a well-tailored dark-blue coat, he entered a secret room. A woman dressed head-to-toe in black stood there; her high ponytail disguised her age. She really looks like his cousin. Like mother, like daughter.
"Are you sure you want to be the Crimson Viper now, Aunt?" Dashylle asked, his eyes glinting as a dagger hovered toward the wanted photo on the wall.
Meg watched him after she threw the dagger, which struck true—aimed for an enemy's head.
"The war began long ago. This will protect my family," she said.
"Alright, Aunt."
"Take care of my daughter," Meg declared before she left. "The war will begin soon."
