Ryan woke with a start.The room was still dim, the curtains were drawn against the early morning sun, but there was a man standing at the edge of his bed. He bowed his head, shoulders squared in formal reverence."Master," the man said smoothly, his voice a low baritone.Ryan sat up so fast he almost snapped his neck. Master again? For Christ's sake. He blinked, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and prayed he was still dreaming.He wasn't.The man was still there, dressed in a crisp suit with a composure that suggested he’d been waiting for hours.Ryan groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Right. Because apparently I've woken up in some period drama where I'm the lord of the manor.""Not quite," the man said, straightening. His mouth quirked in what might have been the ghost of a smile. "But I serve you nonetheless. My name is Morgan. I can assist you in preparing for the day. Your board meeting is in less than an hour."Board meeting. Grotech."Oh, fuck," Ryan muttered, falling bac

Ryan's gaze swept the room, the polished medical instruments, the grim faces of the doctors, Thelma's sharp eyes watching him for even the slightest twitch of fraudulence. One of the white-coated men broke the silence with a derisive sniff. "Mr Greaves," he said carefully, as though speaking to a child, "your condition is being managed. There's no need for outside interference, especially from… an unqualified visitor." Thelma stiffened but said nothing. Her lips pressed into a line, and Ryan saw the brief flicker of doubt in her expression. Greaves coughed, the sound ragged and wet. "Unqualified? That boy carries the same weight his father did. Can you not feel it?" The doctors exchanged looks, a mix of professional irritation and pity for a dying man's delusions. One muttered, "With all respect, sir, faith will not cure corrupted flesh." Ryan stepped closer, ignoring the jab. His senses screamed. The aura wasn't just clinging to Greaves--it was burrowing, threads of oily b

For a heartbeat, silence held the room. Then the son's face shifted. It was shock at first, pure and raw. But it was fleeting. In its wake came something darker. His mouth pulled taut, his eyes flickering with dismay before he rearranged himself into a mask of brittle relief. He smiled, but it never touched his eyes."Father," he exclaimed, "glad to see your health has improved." Such terrible acting, Ryan thought with a snort. Then the daughter spoke, her tone cutting. "Who the hell are you?"Thelma stepped forward sharply, fire in her voice. "Mind your tone. This man is the one who healed Grandfather."The woman did not so much as glance at Thelma. Her eyes stayed pinned on Ryan, taking in his dishevelled appearance. Suspicion dripping from every syllable. "I asked a question. Who are you?"Greaves’s voice snapped through the air, hoarse but commanding. "Enough, Stephanie!" His gaze bore into his daughter, and in it was a command that silenced her instantly. "Do you know who you a

Ryan began his training session with Morgan as his sparring partner. They were both sweating and the quiet hum of discipline echoed off the stone walls of the underground chamber. Ryan's hands tightened around the gun he'd been practising with, firing again and again into the targets that appeared like phantoms before him. But no matter how many rounds he let off, his thoughts were elsewhere. Greta's words had been replaying in his mind since dawn. Someone trusted had betrayed them. His parents hadn't simply died in some wild ambush. Their deaths had been orchestrated, deliberate. And worse still someone close, someone his father had trusted, had played a hand in it. He lowered the gun slowly, his eyes scanning the rows of weapons mounted along the wall swords, axes, curved daggers that seemed to hum faintly with enchantment, and heavier rifles crafted for more than just ordinary prey. The gentleman's words came back to him. When you reach the level, your weapon will choose you. Rya

Collins' face twisted into something ugly, his pride wounded beyond repair. With a snap of his fingers, his two bodyguards surged forward--brutish, predatory men who lived for moments like this. The café fell into a hush, the scrape of chairs and the murmur of retreating customers swelling into a single, expectant silence.Ryan didn’t move at first. He leaned back slightly, as though bored, as though waiting for someone to make his morning worth the effort. The faintest glimpse of amusement traced his lips.The first bodyguard lunged with brute force, swinging heavy fists meant to crush his bones. Ryan slipped aside in a fluid move, his hand snapping up to catch the man's wrist mid-strike. There was a twist, a sickening crack, and the brute bellowed as Ryan drove him straight into the second attacker. They stumbled together, but Ryan wasn't finished. He pivoted, a sharp knee to the gut of the second man, folding him like paper.The café erupted. Cheers, whoops, and the clatter of mugs