Shane let out a ragged sigh and dropped his face into his hands. His fingers pressed into his temples as if trying to hold his skull together, to stop the throbbing storm of anger and disbelief building inside him.
Murder. Of his own grandfather.
"And there's more," James added, his voice soft but tense. "You've been declared a fugitive. The Law Enforcement Agency has issued a 'shoot on sight' directive. If they find you, they won't arrest you. They'll execute you."
He let the words hang in the air like a bomb detonating in slow motion.
Shane didn't respond. He didn't need to. The shift in his expression said it all—his eyes, once dull and weary, suddenly turned sharp, ice-cold. Like something inside him had shattered and reformed into steel.
James hesitated before speaking again.
"Young Master… can I ask something?"
Shane didn't answer verbally, but his silence wasn't a refusal. James took it as permission and continued cautiously.
