Finnian flinched at the mention of the pavilion. He turned to face Zarek, his mask of the kind uncle finally crumbling to reveal the terrified man beneath. He looked at Zarek’s hands as if expecting to see blood under the fingernails."Moving. Yes. Quite," Finnian stammered, his chest heaving. "But Zarek is... he’s fragile, Declan. He’s had a long journey. He needs rest, not... not your dramatics."Zarek looked up, his eyes wide and watery, playing the part of the confused victim to perfection. "I’m sorry, Uncle Finnian. Did I do something wrong? Declan was just showing me the flowers."Finnian recoiled as if the word flowers were a curse. To Finnian, every moment Zarek was near Declan was a moment the past could be unburied. He saw Zarek not as a nephew, but as a ticking bomb, a creature that had survived a fire he was meant to die in."No, no, lad," Finnian said, forcing a gruesome, shivering smile. "No wrong done. I just... I worry. My son doesn't always know when to stop." He

Declan didn’t turn around. He remained as still as a statue, watching the shadows lengthen over the garden. A slow, mocking huff of air escaped his nose."A Riggs?" Declan repeated, his voice smooth and dangerously calm compared to his father’s frantic pitch. "Is that what you’re so terrified of, Father? A name?"He finally turned, leaning his hip against the heavy windowsill. He looked at Finnian with clinical, almost pitying detachment."Look at him," Declan continued, his lip curling into a faint, derisive sneer. "The boy is meek. He jumps at his own shadow. He stammers like a frightened child and looks at a silver fork as if it’s a piece of alien technology."His eyes narrowed. "He’s exactly what a Riggs was supposed to look like after ten years in the dirt… broken. Pathetic. A shell.""You don't understand!" Finnian hissed, slamming a fist onto his desk. The pens in the marble holder rattled like dry bones. "It’s not the boy, Declan—it’s the blood! That family... they don’t jus

He slammed his foot onto the accelerator. The car roared, pinning Zarek back against the seat.Declan didn't pull over at the industrial site. Instead, he swerved back onto the main road, the engine’s scream settling into a low, menacing hum as they surged toward the high-end district. He finally pulled up to a discreet restaurant nestled between limestone buildings, its entrance lit by a single, amber glow."My father wants us hiding in corners, Zarek," Declan said, his voice regaining its oily charm as he handed the keys to a valet. "He wants us to play the part of a tragedy. But I think it’s time we acted like normal people. We’re going to eat, we’re going to talk, and we’re going to forget he exists for an hour."Zarek followed him inside. The air was thick with the soft clink of silverware and the scent of truffles and expensive oak. They were seated in a plush velvet booth in the back, tucked far from prying ears."Is this... is this okay?" Zarek asked. He kept his voice s

“Copy that, Boss,” Shaw’s voice crackled, devoid of its usual humor. “Targeting the lead car’s tires now. I’ve got two more coming up the alley. I’ll keep 'em busy. Go get her.”A muffled thwip sounded from outside, the unmistakable sneeze of a suppressed rifle, followed by the violent hiss of escaping air and the shouting of men in the street.Zarek snatched a heavy iron skillet from a stovetop as they sprinted toward the exit."Stay behind me," Zarek told Declan, his voice as cold as a winter grave. "And if you even think about slowing down, I’ll leave you for them."Declan stumbled through the swinging stainless steel doors, nearly tripping over a crate of produce. His heart hammered against his ribs, not just from the adrenaline, but from the jarring cognitive dissonance of the last sixty seconds.He stared at the man ahead of him. Zarek moved through the high-heat chaos of the line with the predatory efficiency of a wolf in a sheepfold. The line cooks, usually kings of their ow

After a moment of silence, Zarek shifted gears, the car surging forward like a launched shell. "You know who I am, Declan. You spent all evening telling me.""No. No, I don't." Declan shook his head, a hysterical edge creeping into his voice. "The Zarek Riggs I studied was a boy who liked charcoal sketches and old poetry.”“The Zarek Riggs I met two days ago couldn't look me in the eye without trembling. But this..." Declan gestured wildly at the Glock resting on Zarek’s thigh and the bruised knuckles gripping the steering wheel."You didn't just wander out of the woods, Zarek. You move like a ghost, but you hit like a goddamn tank.”His eyes narrowed. “That takedown in the alley... that wasn't a drifter fighting for his life. That was a professional execution. Where the hell have you been for ten years? What are you?"Zarek’s grip tightened, the leather creaking under the pressure. "I’m the person your father created when he burned that train," he said, his voice a low, vibrating r