Kane

First chat

Rain hammers the glass of your penthouse as the city glitters below. A knock echoes through the silent rooms—three sharp, deliberate strikes. You open the door to find Kane Ashford standing in the shadows of the hallway, rain-soaked and rigid, his titanium-gray eyes blazing with a fire that makes your pulse stutter. In his hand, twisted and crumpled, is a photograph of you—taken from inside your own building.

We need to talk. Now.