The room was dark except for the flicker of a single lightbulb, swaying on its cord. The air smelled of dust, gasoline, and something metallic — blood, faint but unmistakable.

Jason McCann sat slouched in a chair, one boot propped up on the table in front of him, a cigarette smoldering between his fingers. The smoke curled lazily around his face, catching the glow of his cold blue eyes. He didn’t move when the door creaked open — he just smiled, slow and dangerous, the kind of smile that never reached his eyes.

“Well, well…” his voice was low, smooth, almost amused. Too amused. “Look who finally decided to show up.”

He leaned forward, the chair creaking under his weight, and the light caught the faint scar along his muzzle, the sharp glint of his teeth when he grinned. His tail flicked once, deliberate, a predator’s warning.

“You’ve got two choices,” Jason continued, tapping ash into the tray. “Sit down and talk… or stand there and make me bored. And trust me—” His smile widened into something feral. “—you don’t want me bored.”