This wasn’t just the arrogance of privileged elites. This was real power.

  Lachn was the only one who didn’t flinch. He was surprised, sure—these people radiated a dangerous aura—but then he remembered Axel’s words.

  He said he’d call his friends. So, these were the so-called friends?

  Lachn remained seated, unfazed. He had no idea how they had broken in, but one thing was clear—Maxwell hadn’t been alerted. That meant they had slipped through security undetected.

  Impressive, but ultimately meaningless. This is Bck Rock Prison. Do they think they can just waltz in and take him? A bunch of reckless guys…

  Maxwell was the first to regain his composure. His voice rang out, sharp and demanding.

  "Your people? Who the hell do you think you are? And who the fuck let you in? What, you pnning to bust someone out of prison?!"

  Lachn scoffed. "Enough talk. Just take them down. Let them join their friend in a cell."

  With a casual flick of his hand, two of his men sprang into action. The next second—

  Thud! Thud!

  Both men hit the ground, groaning in pain. Lachn’s eyes widened. He hadn’t even seen what happened.

  Then came the distinct click of gun barrels locking into pce. Two sleek bck pistols hovered in mid-air, their muzzles pressed against the downed men’s temples—as if controlled by invisible hands.

  A blond man standing nearby let out a low whistle, amusement dancing in his sharp eyes.

  "Nobody move," he said, grinning. "First one who twitches gets shot in the balls."

  Kaia, the petite, baby-faced girl with long hair, rolled her eyes at him and scoffed. "Crude as always, Vincent. Honestly, have some css."

  Seeing them joke around like this—completely unfazed—Lachn felt a rare twinge of unease.

  These weren’t just some overconfident punks. They were dangerous. And they weren’t taking him seriously.

  The woman in bck—clearly their leader—strode forward with effortless grace. Without hesitation, she sank into a chair as if she owned the pce, her piercing gaze sweeping over the room.

  Her voice was quiet, but it cut through the tension like a bde. "Now… who’s going to tell me where my people are?"

  Maxwell and Callum stood frozen, eyes darting to Lachn for direction.

  Lachn’s face was stiff, his usual confidence shaken, but he forced himself to speak.

  "You think just because you’re strong, you can do whatever the hell you want? Look around. This is a prison. You pnning to bust someone out? You’ll all be branded wanted criminals. And no matter how powerful you are, tell me—where the hell do you think you can run?"

  At the mention of wanted criminals, Kaia and Vincent exchanged gnces—then burst into ughter.

  Lachn’s expression twisted in confusion. What the hell was so funny?

  Still chuckling, Vince casually stepped forward, reached into his coat, and pulled out a sleek, bck identification badge. He flipped it open and held it up for Lachn to see.

  "Now… does this clear things up?"

  Lachn barely caught a glimpse of the name on the ID. But the seal?

  His stomach dropped. The Whisper Syndicate.

  For a moment, the room seemed to shrink. Maxwell and Callum went rigid, their faces draining of color. Whisper Syndicate?

  The infamous underground organization, whispered about in hushed voices, feared by crime lords and w enforcement alike? These people were Whisper Syndicate?

  A cold sweat broke out down Maxwell’s back. Callum, on the other hand, had the overwhelming urge to punch Lachn in the face. A slum kid, you said. Just a high school graduate, you said.

  Lachn, you fucking idiot.

  If they’d known this was the kind of fire they were pying with, they wouldn’t have touched Axel with a ten-foot pole. Hell, they wouldn’t have even looked in his direction.

  Feeling Callum and Maxwell’s eyes burning into him, Lachn himself was reeling. His mind scrambled for an expnation, a way out of this.

  How the hell is Axel connected to the Whisper Syndicate?

  It made no sense. None at all. The guy was a nobody. A fresh graduate, barely awakened. He lived in the slums, for god’s sake!

  But the proof was right in front of him. The presence, the aura, the sheer authority these people carried—it wasn’t something that could be faked.

  Lachn’s gut twisted. He had fucked up. Badly.

  If this had been Langford, where power and connections were everything, he might have been cautious. Might have given Axel the damn phone call just in case. But this was Dune. A shithole. A wastend.

  He hadn’t even considered that Axel might have real backing. He had let his arrogance blind him, let his disdain for the slum rats dictate his decisions.

  And now? Not only had he arrested the wrong guy—but he’d also threatened to kill him. How the hell was he supposed to fix this?

  Just as panic started creeping into his chest, Cassia suddenly stood up. Her lips parted slightly, as if she couldn’t believe it herself. But the relief in her eyes was unmistakable.

  Axel, you really didn’t lie to me. For the first time, she felt like she could breathe.

  "I’ll tell them."

  Lachn’s head snapped toward her. His jaw clenched.

  But Cassia no longer cared about his threats. She turned to Rosaline and the others and id everything out. Concise. Direct.

  She told them about Lachn’s threats. About Axel’s setup. About the attempted assassination.

  Rosaline listened in silence. The others did too. But there was something else in Cassia’s words. Something off.

  A melee between two gangs? A first-css upper-tier fighter—dead?

  Lachn had sent awakened assassins after Axel… and yet, Axel killed one outright? If the guards hadn’t intervened, the other would’ve been dead too?

  That didn’t add up. Vince and Rosaline exchanged a look. Just over a month ago, Axel had barely 140 force points in his test results. A newly awakened, bottom-tier fighter.

  And yet…

  By the time Cassia finished speaking, Lachn was still trying to keep his composure, but Callum and Maxwell? They looked seconds away from falling to their knees.

  If you asked who low-level officials feared the most, the Whisper Syndicate would always be at the top of the list.

  Rosaline casually flipped through a file on her device, barely sparing Lachn a gnce. "Lachn. From Langford. Moncrief family."

  Her voice was indifferent, but that was precisely why Lachn finally cracked. Cold sweat dripped down his back. His hands clenched into fists, but his legs? They were trembling.

  Before, he had doubted these people were really from the Whisper Syndicate. But now? Now, he was terrified. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with a shaky hand, forcing himself to speak.

  I… I messed up, he admitted, his voice dry as sandpaper. "Can we talk this out? Work something out?"

  If Rosaline submitted the evidence, his career was finished. That much, he could accept. His family would pull some strings, the old man would step in, and he'd probably avoid anything too serious.

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