"So the old blind man really is dead." He let out a cold laugh. "Perfect. I'm continuing the demolition today."
His gaze swept the room, landing on the photograph—my grandfather and Ranger, side by side. His lip curled.
"Nice photo editing. Playing soldier, was he?"
He smirked. "Oh wait—my mistake. The blind man couldn't even see it."
His lackeys burst into laughter, the sound grating and obscene in the solemn space.
Mourners stepped forward to intervene, only to be shoved back, the confrontation escalating into chaos.
Freya's eyes turned vicious.
"Smash it all."
"I dare you to try."
A voice cut through like a blade.
Duncan had arrived.
Freya's raised hand never completed its arc. Before he could react, the officers accompanying Duncan moved in, restraining him in seconds.
"Do you have any idea who I am?" Freya thrashed wildly, screaming. "Let me go! You'll regret this!"
Duncan stood among the crowd, his expression cold enough to freeze.
"Contempt for the law. Organized assault. Brutalization of a first-class national hero." His voice was ice. "And even now, you have the nerve to run your mouth."
Freya kept struggling, spewing profanity, still arrogant, still without a shred of remorse.