Chapter 2: The Arrival of the Silver Storm
She was tall, lean, and possessed a stillness that was more terrifying than any weapon. Her hair was a shock of silver, cut close, framing a face that had seen wars most of these men couldn't imagine. She wore no club patch—she didn't need one.
She didn't look at the men. She didn't look at the walls. Her gaze was locked entirely on Sarah.
Sarah, mid-swing, hesitated. "Who the hell—"
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The silver-haired woman moved with a speed that defied her age. She closed the distance in two strides, grabbed Sarah by the collar, and tossed her aside like a discarded rag. Sarah hit the far wall with a sickening thud and slumped to the floor, unconscious before she even realized she’d been hit.
The room went deathly silent. No one reached for a weapon. No one shouted. The air grew thin.
