Jason pulled a chair from the nearby table and placed it deliberately in front of the three men who were now kneeling on the polished tiled floor, their faces tight with fear as they glanced repeatedly at Nathan standing a few steps behind, his wide grin darkened by the glint of bloodlust in his eyes.

Nathan leaned back against another chair, uncorked a bottle of whiskey, and took a slow swig while keeping his attention fixed on the crowd below, completely indifferent to the panic he had instilled.

Jason straightened his posture and looked down at the three men.

"Why did you get hostile when I showed you this photograph?" he asked, holding the phone once more with Angela’s image displayed clearly.

The man in the navy blazer hesitated, swallowing hard, and shook his head.

"We... we didn’t know," he stammered. "We... we weren’t sure..."

Jason’s gaze sharpened, and he leaned forward slightly.

"You weren’t sure what?" he asked, keeping his tone deliberate.

The third man, eyes darting nervously toward Nathan, swallowed again and muttered, "She... she was just someone who came often. We thought she was... involved with the police or something."

Jason tilted his head, scrutinizing the expressions closely, knowing immediately something about the timing and their hesitations did not match the story they were trying to sell.

Nathan’s lips curled slightly, a flash of menace crossing his features.

"Do you see what happens when you hesitate?" Nathan asked, tilting his head toward them, and the light from the whiskey bottle caught his eyes, reflecting a glint that seemed almost unnatural.

The third man’s composure snapped instantly. He began speaking rapidly, as if a floodgate had opened, the words tumbling out without pause.

"Angela was a usual here at the club. She came frequently and spent more than most patrons. We thought it would be smart to befriend her, at least to gain her trust. She was wealthy, and we assumed connecting with someone affluent would benefit us. We hung around her when she came here, tried to appear as friends, although..." His gaze flicked toward the man in the white shirt. "...he started making advances beyond friendship, and we argued. It got loud. She was angry at all of us, pushed everyone away, and she stopped coming for a long while. We assumed, if anyone came looking for her or knew her, they might be detectives or involved with the police because of her previous lifestyle. It was precautionary, a foolish choice, but we did not want trouble."

Jason studied them carefully, noting the minor inconsistencies in phrasing and how their eyes shifted whenever Nathan’s gaze flicked toward any one of them.

"Is that the full story?" he asked, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his fingers interlace.

The first man swallowed, shaking his head. "Yes, that is... mostly it. We just wanted to avoid complications."

Jason allowed a small, knowing smile to creep across his lips.

"And how do you explain the discrepancy in timing and behavior?" he asked, indicating the man in the white shirt. "You claimed she stopped coming because of your argument, yet records show she returned repeatedly afterward. How do you account for lying about her visits?"

The three men froze simultaneously, wide eyes betraying a level of shock they could not disguise.

Nathan’s calm indulgence vanished entirely. He tossed the whiskey bottle aside, the glass shattering against the tiled floor.

The man in the white shirt barely had time to flinch before the jagged shard hit the side of his head, blood immediately flowing, and he slumped to the floor unconscious.

Nathan’s voice cut through the noise, low and menacing. "How do you idiots justify thinking we could be detectives? Look at us. You are supposed to be clever enough to lie convincingly, yet you failed completely."

He stepped forward, grasped the arm of the navy blazer man, and twisted it until a sharp crack resounded, the man’s groan filling the space.

"Who is your boss?" Nathan demanded, his face darkening. "You have someone above you you were trying to protect. Speak now and save yourself the remaining pain."

The third man, trembling violently, began to talk, knowing he had no other choice.

"Our boss... he is the club owner’s son," he said rapidly. "He is involved heavily with narcotics, barely coherent most days. Access to him is through VVIP areas upstairs. He has... strong fighters protecting him. He is... dangerous, nearly impossible to reach without intervention. Please, we have said everything we know."

Nathan’s expression hardened further, a shadow crossing his brow.

"You looked down on me," he said quietly, voice carrying a weight that made the three men flinch simultaneously.

The third man’s face drained of color, panic evident, and before he could defend himself, Nathan moved with precision, striking him directly. Darkness consumed his vision instantly.

Jason remained seated, silent and composed, observing Nathan’s calculated ruthlessness.

He realized inwardly that any hesitation during this night would have cost them dearly if he had acted alone at the staircase. He silently thanked his own restraint, knowing that encountering Nathan earlier would have meant death without a chance for negotiation.

Nathan’s presence was absolute, a living deterrent against lies, deception, and any pretense of courage. The balance of fear and brutality was perfect, leaving the surviving kneeling men aware that every word now mattered more than their lives previously had.

Jason exhaled lightly, maintaining calm even as the situation unfolded around him. He kept track of each motion, each subtle twitch, knowing that Nathan’s efficiency made him untouchable.

The two remaining men in front of him were shaking, blood trickling from small cuts, breaths uneven, knees pressing against the tiled surface.

Jason leaned slightly forward, setting his elbows on his thighs, and asked clearly, "You were hostile because you assumed we were detectives. How could two people, neither overworked nor appearing like law enforcement, give you that impression? Be specific."

One groaned, clasping a hand to his forehead. "We... we didn’t know. You... you appeared precise, observant, cautious. We panicked and assumed wrongly. It was... foolish, we know. Our mistake."

Nathan’s eyes flicked toward the man in white again, lifting his voice so that it resonated through the space.

"You are still breathing. That is a privilege," Nathan said. "Do not forget it. You will learn soon what happens to those who waste time and lie."

He shifted, gripping the arm of the man in white and bending it until the cry of pain echoed across the balcony.

"Tell me about your boss now," Nathan demanded, his face stern and unreadable. "We want names, methods, everything you know. Save yourself further agony and speak clearly."

The third man, still shivering, began again, fabricating further, but the urgency in his tone betrayed his fear.

"His access is limited, but he... he is upstairs in the private VVIP area. Only his close associates can approach him. He has guards who are fighters, more skilled than any of us. Without planning, there is no chance to meet him directly," he said, voice cracking as he sensed Nathan’s patience thinning.

Nathan’s expression darkened.

"Did you just underestimate me?" he asked calmly.

Before the man could utter another word, Nathan’s fist connected with his face, stars exploding in his vision, and darkness consumed him completely.

Jason remained still, observing the aftermath.

"Well, we know where to go now."