The clock struck 2:17 AM. A moonless sky blanketed the city in a darkness that felt heavier than usual — like something was shifting in the shadows. In the silence of his high-rise mansion in Swindon, Rex's eyes suddenly snapped open, drenched in the kind of awareness that only predators possess. The buzzing of his encrypted phone on the nightstand didn't startle him — he'd already sat up before it even rang.
> "Speak," he muttered coldly, wiping sleep from his eyes, though the glint of danger never left his irises.
On the other end, his operative spoke in a breathless hush.
> "Sir… we've lost the East Sector convoy. The load—five trucks of arms… caught. Entire operation busted by Kiaan Verma's team just twenty minutes ago."
Silence.
Rex didn't blink. He sat still for a moment longer, then slowly swung his legs out of bed and stood, muscles rippling under his black T-shirt, his expression unreadable.
> "Caught," he echoed, but with a hint of... amusement.
He walked toward the massive window of his room, gazing out at the sea of city lights below. The rain from earlier had stopped, leaving behind mist curling around the streets like ghostly fingers.
> "And you're calling me as if this is a crisis?" Rex murmured, voice calm — too calm. "Don't you see, this is what I've been waiting for?"
His operative hesitated. "Sir?"
> "Let him come closer," Rex said, eyes gleaming with something unhinged, something hungry. "Let the boy run in the direction of fire, thinking he's leading the hunt. Let him trace my footprints across ashes I left behind on purpose. I want him to chase me. I want him to think he's getting smarter."
He turned, striding to his desk and pouring himself a glass of dark liquor.
> "I haven't tasted a prey with real teeth in years," he continued. "Politicians? Puppets. Mafias? Pawns. Spies? Predictable. But Kiaan Verma…" He raised his glass slightly as if toasting the boy. "He's the storm that doesn't know it's a storm."
The phone buzzed again. Another message. CCTV footage from the busted site — Kiaan commanding his team like a soldier born, no fear, eyes on fire.
Rex's lips curled into a slow, dangerous grin.
> "He looks good in control. Let's see how he performs when I break that control."
Just then, Arav entered the room, half-dressed, clearly having been woken up too.
> "Boss… I saw the footage. Are we retaliating?"
Rex laughed — a quiet, twisted sound.
> "Retaliating? No, Arav. We don't kill the lion when he's finally stepped into the jungle." He leaned closer, voice like velvet soaked in poison. "We dance with him."
Arav frowned. "But he's getting closer, boss. He's not just lucky anymore. He's connecting the dots."
> "Exactly," Rex said, his voice dropping. "And soon… he'll find me. Not through a file. Not through a phone. But through fire, smoke, and blood."
He walked past Arav, slipping on his blazer.
> "Prepare the next consignment. Make it a little easier to trace. Leave just enough trail to keep him believing he's in control."
Arav blinked. "You… want to bait him?"
> "No," Rex whispered, dark eyes glinting. "I want to build him. And then when he's the best he's ever been — when he's finally become the threat everyone's afraid of…"
He smiled like a devil ready to bite.
> "I'll bury him myself."
And that night, while the city slept, one hunter sharpened his knives — not to stop the prey, but to invite the chase. Because this time, the predator wasn't hunting…
He was waiting to be hunted.