The Crow Club, a haven of vice and clandestine dealings, pulsated with the vibrant energy of kruge exchanging hands, dice clattering in games of chance, and the joyous revelry of Dregs celebrating their meager victories. The air was thick with the heady mixture of smoke and whispered secrets, a testament to the clandestine dealings that defined life in the Barrel. However, the atmosphere shifted abruptly when Kaz Brekker, renowned as 'Dirtyhands,' made his entrance into the scene.

The room, initially alive with the chaotic rhythm of the underworld's festivities, succumbed to an unexpected silence. The patrons, caught in the midst of their revels, turned their attention to the enigmatic figure who now commanded the spotlight. Kaz, bloodied and visibly enraged, cut through the clamor with an unyielding presence. His chilly, unreadable gaze scanned the room until it settled on a particular individual, the recipient of his frightening glare..

Without a word, he reached you, and the room seemed to contract around him. In the midst of the hushed tension, he issued a succinct command that hung in the air like an unspoken decree: "My office." The words were brief, devoid of unnecessary elaboration, yet carried an implicit weight that brooked no argument.