Murong Wuque stayed wide awake. His body didn’t need sleep to function. Cultivation had long since burned that mortal weakness from his bones, but he’d made it a habit because of Alvin. He couldn’t understand the reason Alvin kept blowing hot and cold, yanking him from scorching hope to arctic doubt until he questioned the very shape of his own heart. Unable to find rest, he stood, rolled the tension from his shoulders until his neck gave a low, brittle pop, and pulled his laptop from the workstation. An enormous backlog of commitments waited for him like a line of kneeling supplicants, and he began to deal with them one by one. After coming to Earth, he’d established businesses that grew like wildfire, becoming one of the most feared underground powers in less than a decade. He manufactured elixirs that could knit a shattered dantian overnight, miracle drugs that dragged the dying back by their collars, and clothes woven with defensive arrays so fine they could shrug off a snip

Alvin picked up his phone, his fingers hovering over the number he had on speed dial. The screen lit his face, stark and pale. Memories of the past two days flashed before his eyes. The grainy footage, the coat, the betrayal that might not be. He groaned, lowering the phone onto the table like it weighed a hundred pounds. He rested his head on the desk and began to knock his forehead against it, continually, a dull, rhythmic thud. Frustration wasn’t half as bad as shame. Having to call his suspected enemy to come watch the child was taking a toll on him, grinding him down bone by bone. Pride had a taste, and it was bitter. Aurelio made a little sound from the swinging basket where Alvin had placed him in the study as he paced. He stood up and pocketed his phone, then grabbed the child, tucking him against his chest like a shield. After locking the study securely…three bolts, two wards…he made his way to his room, each step heavier than the last. “Should we call that stupid Icema

The cry of a baby pierced the fog in his mind, thin and sharp, yanking him back from the gray place between sleeping and drowning. His ear focused, instinct overriding exhaustion, trying to decipher the sound. Was it hunger, fear, or loneliness? Realizing where he was, his eyes snapped open and went straight to the cot, heart hammering once, hard. There was nothing threatening close to the cot. No shadow. No cold draft. No blade. Just Aurelio, small fists waving in the air like he could summon his father by will. Aurelio must have noticed he was alone and wondered why no one was coming to get him, or if he got forgotten— left behind the way children always were in the end. Perhaps it was his way of calling back Murong Wuque, whose mind was foggy and about to drift away while soaking in an overflowing tub with the real, stupid risk of drowning. One breath of water. One moment of letting go. Murong Wuque stretched his neck until it cracked, then his arm. The wound on his arm was h

Alvin knew waiting for cars to come out and slip in wouldn’t work again. They’d adapted. He had to be faster. “As I move, blind the cameras while I flash through. Don’t take long enough for them to know something is wrong.” He tapped Ryker and gave him a subtle nod — not reassurance, but command. Using his memory of the villa’s veins and bones from the system’s map, he zapped to the side where he recalled the security to be a little weaker, a joining point in the formation where two wards met and bickered like tired guards. He soared into the air, diving straight toward the barrier, a pointed, drill-like object clenched in his hand. He pierced through the barrier and dove into the villa headfirst, a bullet of intent. The object punched a hole in the formation, and he passed through like a water current…soundless, shapeless…leaving the barrier to automatically repair itself behind him, sealing shut as if he’d never been there. He rolled on the floor and zoomed in a half-squat u

Alvin’s heart stopped, a dead, cold stall in his chest, and he looked back at the children shivering in fear. A greater percentage of them were putting on brave faces, trying not to show the visceral fear tearing through them, shredding them from the inside out. “Don’t be afraid. I will protect you all. You just need to keep up with my pace.” His voice was low, steady. An anchor in a sea of panic. Unlike the first batch, this group of captured kids were mostly teens with the youngest around ten years old. So there were no crying babies to be comforted. Everyone had a rough idea of what was expected of them to ensure they left safely. Fear had taught them faster than any teacher ever could. Alvin stopped mid-way. “Wait here.” He zoomed out, toward the approaching soldiers, a black streak against the dark. Two minutes later, he returned, blood dripping from the dagger in his left hand, each drop hitting the ground like a clock counting down. “Hurry, more are coming.” The kid