CHAPTER 94: DEFINITELY NOT GOODNEWS

"Well, the White Hunters won the fight," Amir continued. "Most of The Grinning Dead’s visors died in the faction clash, and Dorian had to leave Detroit that very night. But whatever it is Dorian’s doing here, it can never be good news," Amir muttered under his breath.

...

Inside the director’s office, a man with messy dark hair and ghostly pale skin had just settled into the chair across from Grey’s desk. Stitched scars were on both sides of his face, and despite his polished appearance, crisp white shirt, dark vest, perfectly knotted tie, and dangling red earrings—there was something deeply unsettling about him.

This was Dorian Graves, and the disturbing smile that played across his lips was the kind that made your skin crawl and your instincts scream danger.

Kent, who earlier was headed for Mr T’s lab, had immediately sensed that presence, prompting him to hurriedly follow it to the Director’s office. Now he was beside Grey’s desk with a frown so deep it could have been carved into stone, his jaw clenched tight as he glared at their unwelcome visitor. Grey himself maintained his usual poker face, fingers steepled before his mouth as he studied Dorian with cold, calculating eyes.

"You didn’t have to do that," Grey began, his voice steady as he referred to the wave of supernatural dread that had washed through the USOV building when Dorian arrived.

Dorian’s response came in a smooth, cultured tone that somehow managed to sound both refined and menacing at the same time. "How else would they know the King is back?" His grin widened after he spoke.

Behind him stood a woman in a dark suit, clearly his subordinate, with her posture rigid and professional despite the tension crackling through the room.

"What are you doing here, Dorian?" Grey cut straight to the point, wanting nothing more than to get this madman out of his office as quickly as possible.

"Oh come on, Grey, don’t be like that, you want to tell me you didn’t miss me, man?" Dorian’s voice dripped with mock hurt before his unsettling gaze shifted to Kent. "Hi there, Kent, wasn’t it? Everything alright? Because your face looks like absolute shit."

Kent who couldn’t hold it in anymore, lost his composure and snapped hard. "Answer the fucking question, man—what are you doing here?"

Grey raised his right hand toward Kent in a swift gesture that clearly meant ’stand down,’ and Kent reluctantly bit back whatever else he’d been about to say.

Dorian chuckled and turned his head back to his subordinate with theatrical flair. "Someone surely woke up on the wrong side of the bed today."

The woman smiled slightly at his sarcastic commentary, then Dorian finally turned his attention back to Grey, who had been waiting patiently for Dorian to be done with his bullshit and get to talking, his demeanor shifted slightly, more serious.

"Okay, Grey, so here’s the thing—I’m back, and we want to start a faction up and running."

"Who’s ’we’?" Grey’s response was immediate and sharp. "You know what, it doesn’t even matter because the answer is no. Dorian Graves is not allowed to revive or start any faction in Michigan, period."

Dorian clutched his chest dramatically, as if Grey’s words had physically wounded him. "Ow, Grey, that hurts deep, man—I thought we were old-time buddies, remember all those times my faction kept monsters away from the state?"

Grey’s voice turned ice-cold and final. "Grinning Dead was the worst thing that ever happened to Michigan, and the highest crime rate we’d seen in years only happened because your faction was in town. We’re done with this discussion, Dorian."

"Hold up, hold up—come on, Grey, I’m a changed man now, and moreover, I’m not even the faction president this time, not even the assistant, just a regular member." Dorian’s expression shifted to something that might have been genuine if you didn’t know better, but his eyes still held that untrustworthy glint.

Grey wasn’t buying it for a second. "Then who is the faction president, and why aren’t they here instead of you?"

Dorian then gestured to the woman behind him, who stepped forward and placed her briefcase on the desk. She withdrew a document and handed it to Dorian, who slid it across to Grey’s side of the desk, "Here you go."

Grey picked up the paper and scanned it quickly, it was a property deed showing the purchase of a building in downtown Detroit, with the buyer listed as "Edmund Thawne."

Kent craned his neck to see until Grey handed him the document, then turned his attention back to Dorian with renewed skepticism. "We don’t know who this Edmund Thawne is, and until I see this person myself, there’s no faction opening in my jurisdiction."

Dorian’s smile never wavered as he watched the director’s reaction with obvious amusement.

Kent spoke up as he handed the paper back to Grey. "Why would this person, knowing your history and the history of Grinning Dead, want to start a faction that has anything to do with you?"

"Let’s just say, frown face, some people are more forgiving than others, and I guess he saw my potential, you know?" Dorian shrugged, then added, "Oh, and don’t you worry, it’s not going by the name Grinning Dead since, like I said, it’s a new guild entirely, so we’re calling it Pale Fang."

Grey stared at him for a long moment before sliding the document back across the desk. "Like I said, until I see this person face to face, the answer remains no. You may go now, Dorian."

Dorian shook his head with that same unsettling smile, his demeanor unchanged despite the rejection. He stood slowly, his chair scraping against the floor, and straightened his vest with deliberate care. "I’ll be back with him soon enough," he said, then turned toward the office door with his subordinate falling into step behind him.

As Dorian walked through the lobby, every agent in sight immediately focused on him with barely concealed tension, but the moment he turned to meet their stares, each one quickly averted their gaze like children caught staring at something forbidden.

Dorian’s grin widened at their obvious fear, and he muttered under his breath with satisfaction, "That’s more like it," before disappearing through the exit.