SHE

The room was filled with silence as the news of Coldfeather’s death reached Simba. The accident that had taken the lives of several members of their gang was being broadcast everywhere, a mockery of their carefully hidden operations.

The air was tense inside the dimly lit warehouse. Simba sat on a makeshift throne at the back of the room, his eyes scanning his subordinates with disdain. They were failures in his eyes, but he didn’t let his rage show just yet. He didn’t need to. The silence was punishment enough. The only sound was the soft click of Onyidiya’s heels as she paced around the room.

“Hmm,” Onyidiya sighed, stopping to glance at the men. Her voice was sharp, each word like a dagger aimed at their pride. “I heard that the target escaped your grasp again. I must say, you’re slipping, Simba.”

Simba shifted uncomfortably in his seat but said nothing. He knew better than to respond hastily to this woman. She wasn’t someone to trifle with.