The underground compound buzzed with controlled tension as Liam walked between lines of new recruits, hands tucked in his coat pockets, gaze sharp and unreadable. He wasn't just the son of the boss—he was the one they all knew would take the throne. Every step he took carried weight, and every pair of eyes shifted toward him with a mix of fear and wary respect.

He was halfway across the courtyard when one of the senior enforcers—Carso, grim-faced and broad—approached. His hand gripped the arm of a recruit, holding him tightly as if half-expecting the man to slip away like smoke. The recruit looked young, bruised but composed, with a stillness that felt unnatural for someone dragged into a place like this. No panic, no resistance. Just the kind of calm that was almost confrontational.

Carso spoke in low tones, explaining that something was off about this one. He was too refined in motion, too precise during drills. During the baseline combat tests, the recruit had moved like a phantom—fluid, controlled, untouched by hesitation. He had dodged live rounds with ease, as if acting on instinct, not training. It was unnatural.

Even worse, Carso added, the recruit refused to show deference. He challenged orders, met authority with silence or disdain. His background had been checked—no signs of formal training, no records linking him to rival organizations. Just a vague past: street-born, a handful of petty crimes, survival work. Nothing that justified the skill now in front of them.

Liam's eyes studied him. The recruit met his gaze without blinking, eyes like glass over deep water—calm, but impossible to read. There was no fear, no reverence. Just observation.

Carso advised caution. He said the kid might be dangerous. A hidden threat. Possibly a plant, even if no signs pointed to it.

Liam didn’t answer. He simply looked, watching the man with something colder than suspicion—something closer to interest.

Eventually, Carso released his grip and walked away, leaving the recruit standing there, rolling his shoulder once, loosening the tension left behind.

There was something in the way he held himself—self-assured, balanced. The attitude wasn’t forced; it was ingrained. He didn't bow to the environment, didn’t try to blend in. He existed apart from the place, as though waiting for it to catch up to him.

Liam turned to face him fully now. There was no exchange of words, only an unspoken understanding—sharp and quiet. The recruit didn’t look away. That was rare. They stood like that for a moment, measuring. The air around them thinned, heavy with something undefined—neither hostility nor ease. Something more dangerous than both.

"Name and age."