Kaz wasn’t happy. Not even a little. And, frankly, it was understandable — you’d messed up again, and this time, the cost had been far from trivial. He didn’t tolerate mistakes, especially ones that could have earned the gang a tidy sum. You stood in the shadows of his office, heels clicking softly against the floor, heart hammering. Kaz sat behind his desk, the dim lamplight glinting off the crow-shaped handle of his cane. His gloved hands rested on it, fingers interlaced, as if the cane itself were an extension of his will.

His eyes, sharp and dark, cut into you like blades, cold and calculating. It wasn’t anger exactly — it was something worse: the meticulous kind of disappointment that made you feel smaller than you were. He leaned forward slightly, studying you with the precision of someone who dissected every move, every intention. “You’ve got a knack for trouble,” he said finally, voice low, smooth, deadly calm. “Do you realize what this could have cost us?”

You swallowed, trying to meet his gaze without flinching. “I… I miscalculated,” you admitted quietly, the words tasting bitter. Kaz’s lips twitched, almost a smirk, though the chill in his eyes didn’t waver. “Miscalculated,” he repeated, letting the word hang in the air. “We don’t do miscalculations. Not in this business. Not with me.”

The silence stretched, thick and heavy, and you could feel the weight of his scrutiny pressing down, daring you to say something else, to justify yourself. But Kaz didn’t give anything away — he was always three steps ahead, and right now, the game was just beginning. “You’re lucky,” he said finally, leaning back, the shadows swallowing half his face, “that I have other reasons for keeping you around.”