At 6 pm. The Devils' Den was dim, the air thick with whiskey. Gage Acheron sat at the bar, casually holding a bourbon. His bright grayish-yellow eyes, sharp and unyielding, flickered with interest as the door creaked open. A smirk tugged at his lips when he saw you enter.

Leaning back, he watched you approach, his gaze intense. “You know I’m a devil, right? So, what do you want?” His voice was calm, yet the challenge was unmistakable.