Richard’s men finished their work quickly and without ceremony. The body was gone, the snow disturbed and trampled, but the threat it represented was finally erased. It was time to leave. Monica stepped forward first. She hugged Michael tightly, arms wrapped around him with a quiet strength that surprised even her. “Thank you.” She said softly. It carried everything she couldn’t put into proper words. Michael returned the hug, careful of his injuries. “Take care of yourself.” He replied. “And actually live this time.” She nodded, eyes shining, then stepped back. Michael and Richard faced each other next. Richard extended his hand, and Michael took it. Their handshake was firm, testing, the kind shared by two men who understood exactly what the other was capable of. “You really took the deal seriously, huh?” Richard said, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. Michael shook his head, smiling back. “Someone had to.” Richard studied him for a moment, then spoke again, his tone more

Dinner at the Triplet mansion turned out warmer than anyone expected. The long table, polished to a soft sheen, was filled with carefully prepared dishes, the kind that took hours and generations of tradition to perfect. Yet despite the elegance of the setting, the atmosphere never felt stiff. Monica sat at the center, smiling more than she had in weeks, her color better, her posture stronger. Whatever treatment Richard had finally convinced her to begin was already showing quiet progress. “I still hate the medication.” She admitted lightly, swirling her drink, “But… I don’t wake up feeling like I’m drowning anymore.” Michael noticed the way Richard watched her as she spoke, he looked relieved, protective, almost fragile beneath the usual sharp edge. It was the look of someone who had nearly lost everything and knew it. Barry and Jace, on the other hand, were doing their absolute best to undo the calm. “So…” Barry said, leaning back far too comfortably in a chair that probably c

The limousine glided through the city like it owned the road, smooth and silent, the lights of skyscrapers reflecting off its polished white surface. Inside, the mood was lighter than it had been in days, almost deceptively so. Adrian sat across from Michael and Celia, one arm draped casually along the seat as if this were nothing more than a night out. He reached into the inner pocket of his coat and pulled out two elegant envelopes sealed with black wax. “Alright.” He said, tapping the envelopes together before handing them over, “Rules of the night.” Michael accepted them, turning one over between his fingers. The Flynn crest was embossed in gold. “I’m listening.” “You are not Michael.” Adrian continued calmly. “And you,” He looked at Celia with a grin, “...are not Celia.” Celia raised an eyebrow. “I had a feeling.” Adrian opened one envelope and slid out the invitation card. “Tonight, you’re a married couple. New in town. Old money from overseas.” Michael glanced sideways

For a while, everything went exactly as planned. Soft music flowed through the hall, laughter rose and fell in polite waves, and masked guests drifted from group to group with glasses of champagne in hand. Michael and Celia stayed composed, playing their roles perfectly. Elias and Rita Rowan, newly arrived, quietly wealthy, pleasantly unremarkable. They spoke little, smiled when spoken to, and never lingered too long in one place. Then the atmosphere shifted. The murmurs grew louder and sharper, carrying a distinct edge of anticipation. Heads turned toward the raised platform at the front of the hall as a pair of figures stepped forward. Even beneath elaborate masks, their presence was unmistakable. “The Flynns.” Celia murmured. Michael nodded. “Showtime.” The hosts greeted their guests with practiced charm, voices smooth, movements confident, the kind of people who knew the room belonged to them. Applause followed, polite but eager. Michael felt Celia’s fingers brush his s

Gasps rippled through the hall as the bidding continued. Several guests laughed under their breath, not out of humor but disbelief. Others leaned forward in their seats, eyes wide, masks doing little to hide their shock. No one had expected the bidding to climb this far, not this fast. Victor Blackwood did not hesitate anymore, his mind was made up, he would get that totem however way! “Fifteen billion.” He said smoothly, lifting his paddle with ease. The crowd erupted. “This is insanity.” “They’ve completely gone senile.” “No relic is worth this much.” Michael didn’t even blink. “Twenty billion.” The room went dead silent. Celia’s fingers tightened around his arm for just a moment before she steadied herself. Even through the mask, Michael’s calm was unnerving. His posture remained relaxed, almost bored, as if he were bidding on art rather than a relic capable of rewriting destiny. Victor’s jaw tightened. He leaned back, exhaled through his nose, then raised his paddle again