Target Round Table Novels & Stories

Turn your butt back to his uncle. Occasionally, use a small fist to punch the doorknob. Inside, there was a knock on the door. Not only was the boy startled, but his feet take a step back. Even the man was equally surprised. He turns around to talk to the little boy. “Women, taking a bath takes an hour at least. But it's not fast, please wait. He reaches out and holds his watch in front of the child. Point to the long needle. As long as the needle goes to this number. She will come out.

The air smelled of money and thin oxygen. In the center of the main chamber sat the Round Table. There were nine seats. Seat Number 4—marked with the rune of the serpent—was dark. The hologram that usually projected Cain’s face was extinguished. The other members were present, either in person or via high-fidelity holographic proxy. They were the invisible kings of the world—arms dealers, media moguls, tech giants. But today, they were silent. They were waiting. At the head of the table, the largest chair swiveled around.

Carson and Lena wasted no time. By the following morning, personalized invitations were drafted and sent to the key board members of O’Connell Enterprises. The message was clear: an exclusive roundtable, hosted at the estate, to discuss the future of the company and reaffirm their vision. No press. No PR teams. Just truth and transparency.

My anchor chair. “The architecture is curved to accommodate additional analyst positions at a later cycle,” Kael noted, his boots tracking to the primary camera lens to evaluate the sightline. “The roundtable format will mirror the baseline structure of Nightfall Broadcast, but my mind concluded the initial reveal would achieve maximum trauma with your form isolated at the center.” “Yeah,” I whispered, a sudden, sharp smile breaking across my face before I forced it down, drawing a massive breath into my lungs before dropping into the solo leather throne. “Wow.”

"She went shopping. Limited-edition drop—only ten pieces. She didn't want to miss it." He paused, likely imagining the ring on her finger. His voice grew gentler. "Avery… Mom just lashes out because she wants a grandchild. If the ring upset you, tell me what you want, and I'll get it for you." Then, he added as if it were nothing, "Once the company goes public, focus on giving birth to a child." I smiled. "Don't worry. She'll have one very soon." Not from me. Her precious grandson was probably watching her scream right now.

The round table in the center had been blocked off by security, and only a few of the VIP guest tables around them were allowed to go and make toasts there. A few people from the neighboring tables wanted to toast Dexter and Wyatt, but they were blocked by security. Ryder had gone up with his wine glass as well, but when he was stopped by security, he had no choice but to leave with his tail between his legs. "Only those who can go to that table to make a toast can really say they've made it!" Hayden gazed intently at the main table. "It's just a toast, isn't it? How difficult can it be?" Jaxon pulled on his collar and walked toward the main table with his wine glass.

For her? She slightly shook her head. She must be overreacting. Whatever happened, she would just let the moon handle it. “For the procedure that would take place. We would like to ask all the top six candidates who made it to this round to move towards the center of the arena for a short draw lot that will decide who would be your opponent.” Arlan explained with that stoic expression visibly written on his face. Tamara bit her lower lip. She was indeed shaking with mixed anxiety and frustration. But she was desperate to win this round and she would use that to move on with the final round.

Andrew's POV I sat at the round table in the private room of one of the city’s upscale restaurants, surrounded by four men, each representing their own companies. We’d come together to discuss the thorn in all of our sides—the Lyons Group. As I took a sip of my coffee, I kept my tone calm but firm.

Trent said. “What did The Table want?” I asked. From my limited knowledge, I knew the Table was a group of Alpha’s who were of like minds that came together on occasion. They discussed large events, treaties, alliances, enemies, and rogues. Anything going on in the country was discussed at the Alpha meetings. “To notify him of the next meeting,” Trent said. “Excellent. Let the Alpha’s Table know of the change in leadership here at Dark Moon,” I said.

It was where the Iron Law was forged in arrogance and enforced by fear. Today, we were replacing the iron with parchment. In the center of the room sat the Round Table—a massive slab of salvaged steel, scarred with weld marks and blast burns. It was ugly. It was functional. And around it sat a collection of beings that, a month ago, would have slaughtered each other on sight. To my left stood Rax, leaning on a scavenged rifle, representing the Nulls and the Dregs. Beside him, the scarred Sand-Eater Alpha represented the Rogue Clans, his yellow eyes darting suspiciously around the room.