One man backed away so quickly he stumbled into a chair.
Another cursed under his breath, hands shaking uncontrollably.
A third's courage shattered entirely, and he dropped his weapon and bolted for the door—
—only to freeze when Riley's eyes flicked toward him.
That single glance stopped the man in his tracks. Sweat poured down his face.
His breath hitched in his throat. His knees buckled.
And Riley hadn't even moved yet.
"W–who are you?" one gangster choked out, voice shaking. "What… what are you?"
Riley's smile widened just a little. "Just someone trying to get a good night's sleep."
And then Riley walked toward them as if it were just another ordinary day—another dull moment that happened to involve killing.
His expression didn't change, his steps didn't falter.
He carried the same calmness a man might wear while heading to breakfast.
"Let's end this," he said, voice low, steady.
The group tensed.
Then Riley moved.
