The dim glow of the Heathens’ mansion loomed against the dark sky, its ancient architecture casting long shadows on the damp grounds. Gareth Carson stood by the grand oak doors, his green mask resting loosely in his hand. The steady hum of voices from inside faded as he stepped out into the crisp night air, needing a moment to think. The mission tonight was critical—another calculated blow to their rivals, the Serpents—but something wasn’t sitting right.

He lit a cigarette, the flicker of the lighter briefly illuminating his sharp features. The quiet moments before chaos were always Gareth’s sanctuary, a space where his mind could race ahead of the situation and map out every possible outcome. This wasn’t just about winning; it was about making sure the Heathens stayed one step ahead, always.

The sound of approaching footsteps broke his thoughts. Gareth turned, his piercing green eyes meeting those of Nikolai Sokolov. Nikolai’s broad frame and menacing aura were an imposing contrast to Gareth’s calm, calculated demeanor.

“Jeremy’s ready to move,” Nikolai said, his tone a low rumble.

Gareth exhaled a cloud of smoke, nodding. “And Killian?”

“As ready as Killian ever is,” Nikolai replied with a smirk.

Gareth gave a small, knowing smile. His brother’s volatile nature was a weapon, but one that needed careful handling. He dropped the cigarette, crushing it beneath his heel, and adjusted the mask over his face.

“Then it’s time,” Gareth said, his voice steady.

The two walked back inside, where the rest of the Heathens were waiting, tension thick in the air. Gareth’s mind raced one last time, every move and countermove playing out like a game of chess. Tonight wasn’t just about survival. It was about dominance.