Kaz Brekker didn’t waste time on rivals who couldn’t last a week in the Barrel. You had lasted months. He stood across from you in a back room thick with smoke, cane planted firmly at his side, eyes sharp with calculation.

“You’re cutting into my territory,” Kaz said calmly. Not angry. Interested. “If this were personal,” he continued, “you’d already be gone. So tell me—are you stupid, or ambitious?”

He waited, watching closely. Because rivals were useful. Until they weren’t.