Three hundred guests watched the fiancée of New York's most feared mafia boss swing her jeweled heel toward my leg, trying to send me crashing into a tower of champagne glasses. But before she could touch me, I caught her ankle with one hand—and when an elderly man near the orchestra whispered, "That style is impossible," the mafia boss himself went pale, as though he'd just seen a dead man come back to life.

Through the smoke and gunfire, I saw Master Chen walking slowly toward us, completely unbothered by the chaos around him.

"Impressive," Chen murmured, dropping his long coat to the floor to reveal lightweight martial arts robes. "You move just like Miguel. But youth cannot beat sixty years of experience."

"Stay back, Sophia," Alexander warned, stepping in front of me with his gun raised, pointing it directly at Chen’s head. "I'm ending this now."

"Alexander, don't!" I shouted.

Before Alexander could pull the trigger, Chen moved with terrifying speed. He struck Alexander’s weapon with an open-palm strike, driving the barrel upward before delivering a powerful ridge-hand strike to Alexander’s ribs.

Alexander gasped, falling to one knee as the breath was knocked out of his lungs.

Chen raised his hand, his fingers shaped like a spear, aimed directly at Alexander’s throat.

"No!" I screamed, lunging forward with everything I had.

I threw myself between them, using both palms to intercept Chen’s strike.

The impact vibrated through my forearms like a hit from an iron bar. I felt my bones groan under the immense pressure, but I held my ground, pushing his hand upward and away from Alexander.

"Ah," Chen smiled dangerously. "The true form of the Quiet Current. Defending another life."

Chen unleashed a rapid barrage of strikes—punches, palm strikes, and elbows aimed at my vitals.

I blocked, parried, and redirected every single blow, my hands moving in a blur of motion. The sound of our palms clashing echoed off the high ceiling like thunder.