“He doesn’t care for money, and he doesn’t collect favors casually. He’s not just powerful, He's strategic. And if he’s back in our world now, with the Davison family already shaking and Wade’s empire watching their backs... I want to be on his side.”Agnes studied her father for a moment, then stepped closer. “Are you sure you’re not blinded by the fact that he saved your life?”Harry’s expression darkened slightly. “No. I’m enlightened by it.”Agnes sighed and stepped back beside her brother, who remained thoughtful.“Well then,” Marcus said, running a hand through his hair, “if he’s so dangerous and strategic, what exactly do you plan to do?”Harry gave a small smirk. “Simple. I plan to exploit him... before he exploits us.” Marcus leaned back in the armchair, eyes focused on his father, who had just uttered the most reckless thing he’d heard all morning.“Exploit Leonard?” he repeated, disbelief in every sound. “You’re saying that out loud now?”Harry Hades didn't flinch. Calm and

Leonard stood alone in the dimly lit office beneath the training facility. The black-wrapped package sat quietly on the desk in front of him, untouched since he’d brought it in hours ago. He hadn’t moved for several minutes, eyes locked on the label written in a sharp, deliberate hand, “From an old friend.” With a swift flick of his wrist, he opened the package. Inside was a small, rusted medallion engraved with the symbol of a dragon coiled around a serpent, one long forgotten, except by those who once served under its banner. Leonard’s fingers curled around it slowly. “…Riven,” he murmured. He hadn’t spoken that name in years. The last leader of the Dark Dragon group before its reformation. The man who had once trained him. Fought beside him. Betrayed them all. And now… he was back. Leonard’s eyes narrowed. There was also a note, hastily scrawled on aged paper, “What was lost will rise again. You chose silence. I choose fire. Let’s see who survives it.” Leonar

The sound of the secure line connecting him to Diana filled the space between them, a soft hint of static as Leonard sipped his drink. Training for a calm voice, he eased back into the high-backed chair in his study, phone held loosely in one hand while the other rested on the chair’s arm. His study was warmed by the faint amber glow of the lamp beside him, drenching the room in a soft light and deepening the shadows on the walls. “Do you think it’s him,” came Diana’s voice, sharp but tinged with worry. Leonard exhaled slowly. “It’s Riven.” Calm but thick, his voice shrouded tension. There was a second of silence before he heard Diana’s breath on the line, “You’re sure?”“No other explanation makes sense,” Leonard interjected before continuing to explain.“He’s been off the grid for years. Officially, he vanished.But now? Everything fits, the strategic strikes, the psychological warfare, the indirect approach through the three families. That has Riven’s signature all over

All the while, Leonard’s study in Oklahoma was quiet, save for the remote spinning of his computer fan, alongside the sporadic clack of keys. As the evening progressed he and a collection of high-res stills from security footage pulled from hotel kept him company - zooming in on the images from the gala where it all began. For expertly analyzing those in attendance from a mere image, He needed to grasp the financial background of each individual which made quite an impression on him.Only it was not their wealth or reputation that had him fixated. For he had managed to piece together an intricate puzzle of where and when. The guest list from the event he was currently attending along with an unknown person who was granted access to the hotel’s restrooms helped him postulate who his new subjects would be. Iris's attempted kidnappers had not haunted him because of the unadorned nature of the centred, unadorned, simple and unspectacular design inked under the collarbone. Wha

Within the lavish hotel complex located on the outskirts of Oklahoma City, the scent of aged wood, leather, and tobacco perfumed the air. The time was well after 10 PM, and the lobby’s muted ambiance had shifted to soft footfalls and the jingling of glasses from the lounge. It was much quieter than normal at this time of day. After the last two floors consisting of the penthouse suites, a bouncer reined in black stood beside two men whispering in tuxedos, reserved suites for only the top ranking guests, with exclusive access behind velvet ropes. Beyond those areas, not visited by patrons as not marked on the blueprints of the hotel, Justin Wades sat cloaked in the dim lighting reserved for secret profiles, disguised in the smoke of legacy cigars and whiskey enabled fog, stirred thick in obscurity, frozen in time, eying the said man whom only whispers spoke of. Instead of glaring through dust glass, the hotel had illuminated these rooms. Even if cloaked, the man was beyond l