Present – Viper's Office
The soft click of the elevator doors broke the quiet. Kalen stepped into the office, tall and calm, his presence sharp against the cool gray and steel of the space. Across the room, Viper sat behind his desk, sleeves rolled up, pen scratching across paper.
No greeting. Just numbers. Deals. Control.
"Sit," Viper said without looking up.
Kalen dropped into the chair opposite him.
The air between them wasn't cold—but it wasn't warm either. It was something else. Mutual. Quiet. Earned.
"We'll be in town by Friday," Viper said. "You'll handle the refinery meeting. I want your voice at that table."
Kalen gave a single nod. "I'm ready."
He always was. Six months ago, he was a teenager standing in the aftermath of losing the only sister he knew—Ayla. And now? He was Viper's shadow. His apprentice. His son, not by blood but by bond.
Flashback – Six Months Ago
It had been a stormy night when the call came.
Not about Ayla being found. About her being gone.
The kind of gone people didn't question. The kind that left no real answers.
Kalen had come home to silence. Viper was at the window, a glass in his hand, his expression unreadable.
"She's not coming back," Viper said, his voice low. Final. "You can crumble. Or you can rise."
Kalen didn't speak. Just stared.
Then he nodded.
And Viper turned. Looked him in the eye for the first time like he was seeing something solid.
"Then I'll teach you everything."
Present – Balcony
Now they stood overlooking the city—father and son in everything but name.
Viper lit a cigar, passing the lighter to Kalen, who didn't take it. He just folded his arms, sharp eyes following the skyline.
"She'd have loved this view," he said after a while.
Viper didn't answer immediately. He let the silence settle, heavy.
Then, with a breath of smoke: "She's gone. But you're still here."
And to Viper, that meant everything.
Because Kalen had proven himself. Loyal. Fierce. Hungry.
Not a boy anymore.
But an heir.