(TAYLOR HEBERT) CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

The door opened, and whatever picture Taylor had built in her head on the walk over failed to match what she actually found on the other side.

She had expected something theatrical. A throne, maybe, or armed men standing at attention at all sides. Something that made it obvious who ruled this place.

Instead, she got a room that looked lived in to the point of disregard, furniture pushed where it fit rather than where it belonged, and the air thick with heat and the clinging smell of smoke that never quite left. There were people scattered around, some seated, some standing, all of them turning in small, gradual ways as she stepped inside.

And then there was Lung.

Taylor had quickly learned that first impressions mattered. People looked at her and saw a tall, awkward-looking girl who hadn’t quite grown into herself yet. 

What she saw in front of her didn’t leave room for that kind of dismissal.

He was more imposing than she’d expected, riddled as he was with tattoos and scars. And even at rest, there was nothing restrained about him or moderated for the sake of others.

Including, apparently, clothing.

The realization hit a second too late.

Her gaze snapped away on instinct, heat rushing to her face before she could stop it, and the reaction drew a few snickers from the others in the room. 

Great.

For a second, she considered leaning into it, brushing it off, pretending it hadn’t rattled her, but that would have been a lie she didn’t have the skill to sell. So instead, she took a breath, steeled her resolve, and forced her eyes back up.

Lung had shifted slightly, propping himself up as he looked at her with a kind of lazy interest, as though she were something mildly entertaining that had wandered into his space.

“Another imposter appears on my doorstep.”

His voice carried easily, with a baritone growl that was definitely inhuman, and if Taylor was poetic, akin to fire raked over coals. 

She swallowed, then squared her shoulders. “I’m not an imposter, Lung.”

She tried to match his tone, to give her words a growl, but it wasn't anywhere near as intimidating as his. 

Lung exhaled slowly, and smoke followed, curling from his nostrils in a lazy stream that drifted toward her before she could step back. It hit her face, and she managed to hold it together for all of half a second before her throat closed up and she coughed.

Laughter rang out again, louder this time, and someone behind her muttered something she didn’t quite catch, but the tone was enough.

Her jaw tightened.

“I don’t have time for games, child,” Lung said, already shifting his weight as if to stand. “Say what you came to say, or leave.”

Something in her chest twisted, a mix of embarrassment and irritation that burned hotter the longer it sat. She could feel it creeping up her spine, pushing past the hesitation that had followed her all the way here.

This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.

She hadn’t come here to be laughed at.

Taylor’s hand moved before she could second-guess it, fingers finding the familiar contours of the watch without her needing to look.

Lung was still watching her.

So was everyone else.

Good.

She pressed down.

The device responded instantly, segments shifting and rising with a smooth, mechanical ease that cut through the noise in the room. For a fraction of a second, everything seemed to hold its breath.

Then the light came.

Green flooded her vision, bright enough that people turned away on instinct, hands coming up to shield their eyes. The air itself seemed to vibrate, the resulting sound low but building, pressing against her skin rather than passing through it.

Taylor didn’t look away.

She kept her eyes on Lung as long as she could, right up until the light swallowed everything else.

And when it faded, the room felt smaller.

Lung was no longer the largest presence there. Neither was he the most imposing. And when Taylor spoke, her voice was intimidating in a way it hadn’t been before.