The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across Hilton Square. Julius stood with one hand in his coat pocket, the other gently holding Rory’s small, trembling hand. The girl clutched her worn-out bunny tightly, her face pale under the sunlight, eyes darting from face to face in the scattered crowd. Her feet dragged slightly, but she followed Julius without protest.He looked down at her, his voice low but firm. “Just don’t be scared, okay? I’m right here.”Rory looked up at him with wide, fearful eyes. Before she could answer, a sleek black car pulled up by the curb. The rear door opened, and a woman in a beige coat and sunglasses stepped out with practiced elegance. Her sharp heels clicked against the pavement as she hurried toward them, her arms already extended.“Oh, Rory!” Esme exclaimed, sweeping the little girl into a dramatic embrace, pressing her tightly to her torso. “Oh, darling, we were all so worried about you! Are you okay, sweet girl? Oh, how awful this must’ve been for

The Duke’s private study glimmered dimly under the lights as David leaned forward, his voice dropping to a near whisper.“The Order of Ashes…”The Duke began, crossing his fingers together. "It is older than most of the titles in our registry. They call themselves the House of Wolves behind closed doors.”Julius stood across from him, arms crossed, focusing on each word. Meanwhile Lara and Miley were in the drawing room, entertaining the children and keeping them away from the study since this conversation was not meant for sensitive ears, and they had a pesky habit of showing up exactly where they were not supposed to be. “They’re not just a shadow society of old men playing politics, but they run adoption networks, influence inheritances, control elite charities. Every time a scandal is buried or a child disappears with no trace, they are usually the ones behind it.”Julius nodded. “I understand. What would you like me to do, Your Grace?" David’s expression cracked, allowing a hi

The morning fog draped the Ashborne estate like a veil of secrets, dulling the sound of hooves and muffling the chatter of servants. Julius stood beside Silas in the outer stables, both of them dressed for riding. Silas was wearing a deep crimson coat with black leather gloves and carried a polished riding crop, always valuing style more than necessity.He fed sugar cubes to a stallion, then turned to Julius with a grin. “You’ve heard whispers, haven’t you?” Silas said, in a playful tone. “Of the Whispered Hunt?”Julius kept his expression unreadable. “Not in detail.”Silas smirked. “It’s one of our oldest traditions. Pre-dates the Republic! A cleansing ritual, so to speak. We invite select members of the Order and well, we do a little hunting.”“Hunting what?” Julius asked, though he already knew the answer.Silas tilted his head, voice dropping into something darker. “The unwanted… but they are collected, filtered and given a night’s head start.”Julius mounted his horse slowly,

The vineyard sloped gently behind the Ashborne estate, appearing completely serene on the surface under the rows of tender vines and trimmed grass fields. But Julius had long since stopped trusting what the Ashbornes showed to the world.It was near midnight when he found the entrance, buried beneath an overgrown stone hatch half-concealed by wild mind and thyme herbs.He had been following a servant’s strange movements since a few days: every day, on schedule, the man had disappeared behind a storage shed, then reappeared from the opposite end of the vineyard twenty minutes later, empty-handed and pale.Julius returned that night alone, armed only with a dim lantern and a short blade strapped beneath his coat. He pried the hatch open, and the smell hit him first: reeking of damp stone, iron, and ash. A staircase curved downward, uneven and slick with moss.He descended slowly.At the bottom lay a door of black wood, reinforced with metal ribs. Its hinges screamed in protest as he p

The moon hung low over the Ashborne estate, veiled by thin, sickly clouds. Music drifted from the ballroom—polished violins, laughter, clinking glasses. The annual Starlight Soirée had drawn half the noble court to its halls. But Julius wasn’t among the dancers. He stood at the bottom of a back corridor beneath the eastern wine cellar, posted in front of a heavy, iron-bound door. Locked. Sealed. Guarded.“This area is off-limits,” Silas had said, tossing him a brass key with the number VII etched into it. “You are to let no one in. Not even family.”Julius had only nodded, masking the cold dread pooling in his gut.The hallway reeked of mold and decay. The walls sweated. The old stones beneath his boots vibrated faintly—faint humming, mechanical, constant. Something lived below.He waited until the shift bell rang upstairs, signaling midnight. The revelers would be too drunk, too distracted.In a single motion, Julius turned the key in the lock and slipped through the door.Darkness s