Zayne POV

“Even when you win, you lose something you can’t name.”

The line tasted like ash in my mouth. My father, Charles Black, had just been led away in handcuffs, his empire collapsing into liquid ruin, yet the victory was hollow.

It was cold, sterile, and ultimately pointless. The world outside the refinery, still buzzing with the news of the financial apocalypse, felt utterly irrelevant.

The justice we delivered was impersonal, and I hadn't yet gotten back the years I lost.

I looked ...