The town was small — no more than a scattering of weathered houses, each leaning a little under years of wind and rain. It lay cradled between steep hills and the edge of the same dense forest where Hunter had found him. Here, life moved slow: mornings began with the rooster’s crow and ended with the warm glow of kerosene lamps.For the past three weeks, Aiden had lived in a modest cabin behind Hunter’s own. He woke to the smell of pine and woodsmoke, spent his days repairing fences or helping Hunter mend fishing nets, and his nights staring at the ceiling, chasing shadows in his mind.The people called him “Jonas,” a name Hunter had chosen when the man insisted he didn’t remember his own. It was easier than saying, “I have no idea who I am.”But Aiden knew something was wrong.He moved with instinct — an edge to the way he scanned rooms, the way his hand twitched toward his hip as though expecting a weapon. When strangers passed too close in the market, his body tensed without thoug

The rain had stopped hours ago, but the earth still smelled fresh, the scent of wet leaves drifting through the village. Inside the council hut, elders sat in a semicircle, their weathered faces lit by flickering oil lamps.Hunter spoke first, his voice full of pride. “There’s no man in this village who has given more of himself in so short a time. When danger came, he stood between death and our people without hesitation.”The village king, a tall, broad-shouldered man named Chief Oban, rose from his carved wooden chair. “Jonas,” he said, looking directly at him, “you have not only earned our gratitude… but our trust.”Jonas shifted uneasily. “I only did what anyone would”“No,” Oban interrupted, his deep voice echoing in the hut. “Not anyone. From this day forward, you will serve as my Second in Command, protector of the village, and voice of the people when I cannot be present.”Murmurs of approval filled the room. A carved staff — smooth, polished, and inlaid with brass — was plac

Bryden stood at the balcony of his quarters, watching the mansion courtyard below. Workers moved like ants, carrying out Zain’s new directives — policies that slowly stripped the Romanov estate of its old ways and replaced them with something colder, more mercenary.He’d played the role Zain expected — the loyal second-in-command — but inside, Bryden’s thoughts were elsewhere.He had seen men fight for power, for gold, for revenge. But Aiden Romanov… that man had fought for people. Even when it cost him personally, even when it brought him nothing in return. The memory of Aiden pulling him out of a burning warehouse years ago flashed in his mind — no hesitation, no expectation of reward.And now, Zain was turning that man’s empire into a carcass to feast upon.Bryden’s decision came quietly but firmly.Every night, he began collecting feeds — encrypted data, security footage, and reports from informants scattered across the city. He smuggled them out of Zain’s watch, storing them in a

Zain’s office smelled faintly of imported tobacco and ambition. The night’s rain still tapped against the tall windows as he leaned back in his leather chair, eyes narrowing on Bryden.“They’ve become a liability,” Zain said flatly, sliding a sealed envelope across the desk. “No more hiding. No more chances. Do it quietly, tonight.”Bryden glanced at the envelope but didn’t touch it right away. “And the bodies?”“Dispose of them where no one will find them. I want their names erased as if they never existed. Then…” Zain’s smile was thin, serpentine. “…you will stand as my shadow, my second in command.”Bryden gave a short nod. “Consider it done.”Later That Night — The DeceptionUnder cover of darkness, Bryden moved swiftly. Silvana and Zia were already hidden in the basement of the safehouse he’d prepared days earlier — a remote stone cabin in the wooded hills, stocked with enough supplies for months.He crouched in front of Silvana. “No matter what you hear, no matter who comes… you

The Romanov mansion had grown quieter in the weeks since Zain seized power. What once hummed with order and disciplined loyalty now carried an uneasy stillness, like the silence before a storm.Zain relished it.To him, silence meant control. Obedience. Fear.He sat in his father’s chair — Aiden’s chair his fingers tapping against the carved wood of the armrest. The crown of authority he had fashioned for himself weighed heavy, not in burden, but in satisfaction.They thought him ruthless. Good. Let them fear.Bryden stood before him, his usual stoic expression intact. Zain’s lips curved into a cold smile as he studied his most trusted hand.“It is done?” Zain asked, his tone casual, almost bored.“Yes,” Bryden replied smoothly, without hesitation. “Neither Silvana nor the child will trouble you again.”Zain exhaled slowly, leaning back into the chair as if the answer soothed him. A sharp, dangerous glint flickered in his eyes.“Good. Very good.”Inside, relief swelled. The ghosts of