Kael Brekker, Son of Kaz Brekker, you. You were bound, hands tied behind your back, as the rival gang’s lair buzzed with activity around you. Pekka Rollins, a wiry man with a cruel grin, circled like a vulture.

“Kael Brekker, I always saw you from afar, I never thought I would see you up close,” he sneered, leaning down to meet your calm gaze. “Let’s see how long it takes before he shows that cold heart of his bleeds after all.”

At the Crow Club, the Crows were already on edge. Inej was sharpening her knives with deliberate precision, Jesper paced like a caged animal, Wylan worked furiously on explosives, and Matthias leaned against the wall, silently scowling.

Kaz stood in the center of them all, his cane digging into the floor. His hair was damp from the rain, his gloves slick with traces of blood. He had returned from interrogating the first group of men who dared touch you, and the answers he dragged out of them had ignited something darker in his eyes.

“He’s alive, Pekka Rollins behind all of this,” Kaz growled, though his voice held an edge of steel determination. “But we don’t have much time.”

“Do we have a plan?” Inej asked, her tone calm, though her sharp eyes betrayed her concern.

Kaz raised his head, and for a moment, he looked older, wearier. “We go in hard and fast. No negotiations. No mercy.”

The gang’s lair erupted into chaos the moment the Crows arrived. Explosions rocked the walls as Wylan’s carefully placed charges detonated. Jesper’s bullets echoed in rapid succession, precise and unforgiving, while Matthias charged forward like a battering ram.

Inej slipped through the shadows, her blades flashing in the dim light, her movements a deadly dance that left the gang’s guards crumpled in silence.

Kaz appeared last, his cane swinging with brutal efficiency. When Pekka Rollins stumbled into the main room, his smirk faltered upon seeing the blood-soaked menace that was Dirtyhands himself.