Foreigner

Chapter 33

POV: The Remaining Four.

The basement hums with the quiet rhythm of power.

In the dim light of the library's hidden sublevel, the air smells like mildew and leather bindings. The Seven don't meet here often—it's only in case of real danger.

They sit in silence around the iron table. Four chairs filled. Three empty. And no one dares mention the ones who used to sit in them.

Caleb Feng is the first to speak. "His pattern is clear."

His voice is flat, clinical. "Lukas moves through a five-stage process: surveillance, social sabotage, exposure, psychological collapse, and then the final blow. Efficient. Precise"

He twirls a pen between his fingers and adjusts his glasses without looking up. "Monroe was chaos. Alex was shame. Theo was annihilation. I'm next."

"I think it's charming," Adrian Graves says lazily, reclining like he owns the world. "He thinks he's rebranding Whittiker. All that Estonian fire stuffed into a boy with a martyr complex."

Dean Lockhart grunts. "You're all wasting time. Let him come. I'll break his ribs and we'll be done."

Adrian shrugs. "And get your ass and reputation handed to you? Be my guest."

Caleb tilts his head, just enough to look at Dean. "He'll gut you publicly before you ever get close. You don't win this by swinging."

Dean growls, chair scraping half-back—until a sound cuts him off.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Slow. Steady. Measured.

Victor Anders is tapping two fingers against the table's surface. Not a fidget. A countdown.

The others freeze.

Victor doesn't raise his voice. He never does. He doesn't need to.

"You talk too much," Vic says quietly.

Dean lowers himself back into his chair.

Vic stops tapping. The silence after is worse than any blow.

He finally looks up, dark eyes unreadable beneath the swing of the low bulb.

"Lukas Mai isn't a threat," he says. "He's a symptom."

Adrian studies him. "Of what?"

Vic smiles.

Cold. Beautiful. Empty.

"Hope."

No one laughs.

He leans forward slowly, his hands folding over each other with practiced ease.

"We're not going to fight him. We're going to crown him."

Adrian blinks. "What?"

"Did you not hear me?" Vic's smile widens—just a little too long. Adrien cowers visibly.

"Lukas wants justice. We'll give him power. And we'll make sure the only way he can use it... is against himself."

Caleb is the only one who doesn't flinch. "The material is ready."

Adrian glances toward him. "The files?"

"Courtroom footage. Hospital scans. Gang records. Testimony."

His voice is still cold—but there's something behind it now. A quiet satisfaction.

"Lukas will fold upon seeing it all. He'll be ours by the end of the week."