The structure of the parking lot became a suffocating pressure cooker as the silence shattered. Alpha Beron, catching the sudden, stark terror that had paralyzed the great King of Deviloy, let go of his car door. The cowardice that had made his limbs shake only a moment prior dissolved under a surge of malicious, opportunistic adrenaline.
He stepped back onto the pavement, his immaculate white suit rustling as his scarred face twisted into an expression of toxic triumph. He smelled the scent of old blood—an old, buried family ruin—and he was more than ready to cause a cataclysmic scene right under the hotel lights.
"Look at him!" Beron roared, his voice booming across the concrete deck as he thrust a shaking finger directly toward the unmoving figure. "Look at your pristine, flawless son, Geney Ford! He's tongue-tied! The great King cannot say a single word to defend himself!"
