Rehab for SuperVillains (18+)

Silence hit, heavy as the dead thug's stare, then Harris rasped, "You're shitting me." "Nope." Kael's grin broke wider, splitting his lip fresh—pain a quick sting he ignored. "First customer's a real charmer."

Another pause, longer, the line crackling with disbelief. "You're a goddamn idiot," Harris finally said, voice flat, final, like a judge's gavel.

Kael chuckled, a low rasp that scraped his throat. "Work hard at it." His hazel eyes glinted, dark humor flickering as Rhea shot him a look—amber sharp, smirking through a mouthful of chicken.

"No, I mean it, Drayce." Harris's tone hardened, gravel grinding. "That zone's no ghost town—it's a sewer. Villains, dropouts, scum who don't want daylight—been a pit for years. And you plunk your little 'rehab' dream right in the middle? You're begging for a knife in your back."

Kael shrugged, a slow roll that tugged his bruised shoulder—pain flaring, ignored. "Knew the neighborhood when I signed the lease."

"You'll die there," Harris snapped, blunt as a brick.

"Then send a truck for myrpse," Kael deadpanned, voice dry as ash. "Make it quick—I'd hate to stink up the place."

Harris groaned, a sound dragged from deep in his gut, all exasperation and defeat. "You're a pain in my ass, Drayce. Fine—I'll get a crew out. But don't make this a damn routine."