“YOU SHOULD be careful who you call family.”
Cassian Dredge smiled as he said it, like he was offering friendly advice instead of a threat.
Jeremiah Veyne stood in the middle of the dim warehouse with his hands loose at his sides, refusing to look impressed.
The place smelled of oil, rust, and cold concrete. One large light swung lazily above them, throwing long shadows across the empty room.
It was a neutral location. That was what Cassian had called it.
Jeremiah called it a cage.
Two of Cassian’s men waited near the far wall, arms crossed, watching silently. They were there for show. Jeremiah knew that. Cassian liked audiences.
Cassian leaned against an old metal table and folded his arms.
“Relax,” he said lightly. “You look like a man expecting an ambush.”
“I always expect one
