Eros
I step over broken glass and the smell of burned wood and scorched plastic fills my nostrils. Lycus moves behind me, and several of my most trusted soldiers are spread throughout the building.
"When did this happen?" I ask quietly.
Lycus grunts as he picks up an expensive bottle of whiskey, the bottom cracked and the insides already leeched out and likely burned. "Last night," he says. "Fire company got here but by then it was too late."
I clench my jaw and nod. The club is blackened and ruined, the central bar a pile of charred and destroyed wood. I can barely make out the shape of the place—the dance floor, the tables, the decorations on the walls and the lights in the ceiling—but the scatter of bullet holes near what's left of the DJ booth are unmistakable.
"I assume the prope
