8

I sat on a park bench, waiting for Dex. This was the instruction that Sylas had added at the end of his note.

I wasn't scared.

I felt like I should be considering he was-apparently-a big drug lord, Mafia boss, whatever you want to call him.

But I wasn't afraid. The lack of fear almost made me feel like I must be psychotic, sociopathic, something.

From the corner of my eye, I saw a man walking in my direction. Subtly, I pressed the button on the side of the watch to start the recording. I didn't know what this was for but it wasn't my spot to ask questions. I was just fulfilling the favour I owed.

Surely Sylas wouldn't send me to walk right into my own coffin.

I'm not sure how much I would care if he did.

A very tall, broad shouldered and muscular man approached me. I could see tattoos around his neck and running past the sleeve of his jacket, onto the back of his hand. He was sleek, an aura of paramountcy around him. His eyes were chartreuse green; bright and glistening as the sunligh