The Ghosts of the PastI see him everywhere.In the glass of my office window. In the polished steel of the elevator doors. In every reflective surface that catches my eye.Julian.His eyes stare back at me—sharp, knowing, amused.But they’re not his, are they?They’re mine.I turn away from the mirror in my bathroom, gripping the sink so tightly my knuckles go white. The water runs, the sound filling the silence, but I don’t remember turning it on.Sleep has been an afterthought lately, chased away by numbers, names, and decisions that stack like bricks on my chest. But exhaustion does something to a man—it blurs the edges of reality and makes the mind play tricks.Or maybe it’s not exhaustion at all.Maybe I’ve just become the very thing I swore I wouldn’t.I splash cold water on my face, but it doesn’t wash anything away.When I look up again, he’s still there.His lips curl into a smirk."Second thoughts?"I grip the counter. "You're not real.""Real enough."My own reflection sho

The Oath’s New VisionSurvival.That’s what it has come to.Not power. Not control.Just survival.The Oath was never meant to be what Julian made it. It was never meant to be a bloated empire weighed down by politics and personal greed. It was supposed to be a shield, a weapon in the right hands, a force that could shift the world before it collapsed under its own corruption.But somewhere along the way, it lost itself.And maybe, so did I.I sit in the war room, watching the faces around me. Mara, sharp-eyed and skeptical. Jackson is impassive but alert. The others—some loyal, some opportunistic, some waiting to see if I will fall like Julian did.I won’t.I can’t.“The Oath is changing,” I say, my voice cutting through the silence. “No more bureaucracy. No more excess.” I lean forward, locking eyes with each of them in turn. “We strip it down. We make it stronger. Smarter. Deadlier.”Mara’s lips press into a thin line. “And who decides what’s necessary?”I hold her gaze. “I do.”Ja

A Message in BloodI don’t hesitate.Hesitation is for men who still believe in right and wrong.For men who haven’t learned that in this world, there’s only one rule—power wins.The gun feels steady in my hand, an extension of my will. The weight of it is familiar, comfortable, reassuring. The target kneels before me, bound and gagged, his breathing shallow. He’s shaking. He knows what’s coming.Good.Fear is part of the message.Jackson stands to my left, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Theo is to my right, eyes sharp, always watching. They’re waiting for me to make the call. To prove—once again—that I’m the man they now answer to.I crouch down, gripping the man’s jaw, forcing him to look at me. His pupils are blown wide, sweat drips down his temple.“You knew the rules,” I say, voice calm. “You broke them.”He tries to speak, but the gag muffles his words. Pleas, excuses—none of it matters.I let go of his face and stand.He whimpers.I press the barrel of the gun against

The Last LineThe blood on my hands is still warm.I flex my fingers, watching the crimson smear into the cracks of my skin. It seeps beneath my nails, thick and clinging, refusing to be washed away. The air is dense with the metallic scent of it, wrapping around me like a second skin.At my feet, the body lies still. The eyes are frozen in an expression of shock, lips parted slightly, as if he had been halfway through a final breath when my knife found its mark. He didn’t believe I would do it.That was his last mistake.I crouch down, tilting my head, studying the way the life has drained from his face. A week ago, I would’ve felt something—remorse, hesitation, maybe even disgust.Now, there is only silence.No guilt. No regret. Just the knowledge that it had to be done.Because that’s the truth, isn’t it?Everything is necessary.The Oath doesn’t ask for morality. It asks for results.And I deliver.Behind me, the door creaks open.I don’t need to turn around to know who it is."Yo

The Test of LoyaltyThe air is thick with the scent of rain and gasoline. The city hums in the background, the distant wail of sirens echoing somewhere far enough away to be irrelevant. A streetlamp flickers above me, casting long, distorted shadows against the damp alley walls.I stand there, hands in my pockets, waiting.This isn’t a normal job.It’s a test.I can feel it in the way they watch me. In the silence that stretches too long between us. In the weight of the gun tucked against my ribs, heavy with expectation.The Oath doesn’t give second chances.And right now, they want to know if I truly belong.Mason stands a few feet to my right, arms crossed, unreadable. His gaze is sharp and calculating, the kind that measures a man’s worth in the span of a breath. He’s seen others fail before. He’s seen them hesitate, flinch—make that fatal mistake.I already know what he’s thinking.If I hesitate now, I’m as good as dead.If I don’t do this, I was never meant to be here in the firs