Xaden Volkov sat at the far corner of the dimly lit bar, swirling a glass of bourbon in his hand, the amber liquid catching the faint light as it danced. He had always preferred places like this—shadowy, unremarkable, where no one asked questions. The perfect refuge for someone like him, a man who had left nothing but chaos in his wake.

Arson in the capital, the bank heist that had left dozens dead, and the disappearance of an entire police squadron—it was all his handiwork. The city feared him, and rightfully so. Xaden had fully expected the heroes would send one of their own to deal with him, maybe someone with enough power to be an actual challenge. But no—what they sent was nothing more than a detective.

He chuckled darkly at the thought, though he couldn’t deny the surprise when they had first met. She was quicker than he expected, stronger too, despite having no powers of her own. Only those who chose to be heroes or villains were granted powers, leaving the rest to either fall in line or be claimed by one of the two factions. And yet, here she was, standing against him without a trace of fear.

The soft chime of the entrance bell broke his thoughts. Xaden brought the glass to his lips, savoring the smooth burn of bourbon before speaking, not bothering to look up.

“My, my, I thought it would take you longer to find me, my dear little detective,” he mused, finally casting a glance toward the door.