Barclay's balcony overlooked the city like a predator scanning the savanna. The skyline—sharp lines, neon haze, pockets of life flickering—looked as it always did.
But tonight, the smoke out on the horizon broke the picture. Pillars of it, distant and rising. Like black flags marking something he couldn't control.
He paced. Slow at first, then faster. The wood beneath his shoes creaked faintly with each turn—creak... creak... creak—but it barely registered. His phone was pressed tight against his ear, voice low but ragged with heat.
"I don't care what other arrangements you had," he argued, biting down on the last word like it tasted sour. "Gather your brothers. Now."
His fingers twitched as he ended the call, thumb jabbing the screen with unnecessary force. Thnk. The line cut off. He exhaled through his nose, sharp and hard, jaw tightening until the muscles along his neck stood out.
