CHAPTER FORTY TWOThe grand hall was bright and cold, like it was built to crush people. Declan stood between two guards with his arms pinned, his ribs screaming each time he breathed. He could still hear that metallic click behind him, and he knew it was not a mistake. It was a warning.Jacob stepped closer, calm and proud, holding the royal stick like it belonged to him. “Remove the ring,” Jacob said. “Do it now.”Declan looked down at the emerald and rubbed it with his thumb. “No,” Declan said quietly. “Not that.”A murmur moved through the hall. Uncle Markus smiled like he had been waiting for the word. “He still thinks he is somebody,” Uncle Markus said.Jacob’s eyes sharpened. “You are nobody,” Jacob said to Declan. “You are a guest here. A thief in royal clothes.”“I did not steal anything,” Declan said.The royal grandmaster stared at him without warmth. “Obey,” the royal grandmaster said. “That is all you are required to do.”Declan lifted his head. “I already gave the card a

CHAPTER FORTY FOURDeclan left the palace like a ghost with a borrowed body. His ribs hurt each time he breathed. His lip was still split. His cheek still burned from the slaps. He could not even cover it properly because he did not have a clean shirt, and he did not have a jacket. He only had his hands and the shame that followed him like a shadow.Ms. Sonia had said he was not alone. But the street did not feel like that.The street felt like the world had agreed to forget him.He walked out of the palace gate and kept going, because staying inside meant being watched, and being watched meant being used. His feet dragged, and the soles of his shoes felt thin like paper. He kept thinking about the ring. About how empty his finger felt. Like a piece of him had been torn off, not the jewelry, but the last proof that he mattered to someone.He stopped at the first shop, a small supermarket with a bright sign and a tired cashier. He walked in and forced his voice to sound normal.“Please

CHAPTER FORTY SIXDeclan held his breath as the footsteps stopped right in front of his hiding spot. His heart hammered against his ribs so hard he thought it might crack them open wider. The two men stood there, dark shapes under the weak streetlight, rain starting to patter on the metal roofs around them. One shifted, gravel crunching under his shoe. The other cleared his throat, the sound cutting through the quiet night like a knife.“You see anything?” the first man asked, voice low and rough.“Nothing but trash,” the second one muttered. “Or maybe a stray cat.”They both gave a short, ugly laugh. Then they moved on, walking deeper into the dark market aisles, their voices fading as they argued about which way to check next. Declan let the air out of his lungs slowly, his whole body trembling from how close that had been. Who were they hunting? Who was the “boss” they kept mentioning? The palace? Someone who wanted to make sure he stayed broken? The questions twisted in his gut li

CHAPTER FORTY EIGHTDeclan froze on the bench as the footsteps grew louder. Rain dripped from the fountain edge, mixing with the soft patter on leaves overhead. He kept his eyes fixed on the water, pretending not to notice. But the steps stopped right behind him. A shadow fell over his shoulder.“Declan Okoro,” a voice said. Smooth. Familiar. Too familiar.He turned slowly. There stood Marcus, one of his old classmates from medical school. Tall, clean-cut, always in expensive shirts and shoes that screamed money. Marcus held a newspaper in one hand, the same one with Declan’s photo splashed across the front. His other hand clutched a coffee cup from some fancy cafe.“Wow,” Marcus said, eyes wide with fake surprise. “It really is you. Sitting here like a drowned rat. I saw the paper and thought, no way. But here you are.”Declan swallowed hard. His jaw still ached from the punches last night. “Marcus. What do you want?”Marcus sat down uninvited, close enough that Declan smelled his co

CHAPTER FIFTYDeclan kept walking through the rain toward the river, the burner phone heavy in his pocket like a stone pulling him down. Midnight loomed close, and the old warehouse sat dark and forgotten at the water’s edge, windows broken, walls tagged with faded graffiti. He stopped at the entrance, heart slamming against his bruised ribs. The door creaked open on its own, like it waited for him. Inside, shadows stretched long under a single flickering bulb. No Stefan. Just a note on the floor. “Too late. Run while you can.” He crumpled it, fear turning to numb anger. Another trick. Another dead end. He left before anyone showed up, slipping back into the night. Sleep came in fits on a park bench, rain his only IMorning hit hard. Sun cut through the clouds, but Declan’s body felt like lead. He dragged himself back to campus. No choice. School was the only thread left, even if it unraveled him daily. He slipped through the gates, head low, avoiding eyes. Classes started soon. He f