Those eyes… they weren’t broken. They were sharp. Calm. Burning with something ancient and powerful.
The priest began the ceremony, his voice echoing through the vast space. Julian’s laughter rang louder than the organ music.
“Do you, Clara Valderama, take this man—”
*The Explosion at the Altar**
Before the priest could finish, Lando slowly straightened up.
The trembling stopped.
He raised his dirty hands to his face and grabbed the thick beard. With one powerful yank, he ripped the prosthetic beard clean off, revealing a strong, chiseled jaw. Another pull and the matted wig came away, letting long but well-kept dark hair fall into place. He wiped the soot from his face with the sleeve of the disgusting suit, revealing smooth, tanned skin and a face that looked like it belonged on magazine covers—not alleyways.
