Hellvane was not a prison in any sense the outside world understood. Its name alone was enough to drain the color from a stranger's face — and it lived up to it. It held no small-time offenders, only men and women who had once commanded fortunes, syndicates, and cross-border operations. The most dangerous criminals alive. "Lodge." The voice was gruff, unceremonious — Warden Cole, keys already finding the lock. "Congratulations. Today's your day." Valerian stood, grabbing the single photograph of his wife, Keeya — the only thing that had kept him sane for three years. He stopped just beyond the threshold, closed his eyes, and let the late afternoon sun wash over his face. Then he raised both hands to the sky, fingers spread wide, and breathed in deep, as though he could swallow the whole free world in a single gulp. "Finally," he murmured, the word cracking, half-laugh, half-prayer, with everything he had swallowed for three years. The humiliati

Valerian froze on the spot. For half a heartbeat he simply stood there, the words still hanging in the air between them. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, searching her face for the joke or the punchline that would make the sentence make sense. Before he could gather a reply, Minerva closed the distance between them, boldly leaning to his chest. The contact was sudden but warm. Valerian’s body already reacted before his mind caught up: his muscles locking, senses sharpening to every point of pressure, goosebumps prickling his skin despite the heat. Gently, he caught her by the shoulders and gently pushed her back. "Excuse me,” he said, taking a step back. "I think we should clarify things first. Because right now, none of this makes sense to me." If Minerva was offended by the retreat, she didn't show it. Instead, she reached out and lifted his hand by the wrist, turning it so the black ring on his finger caught the light. "This

Whistle was taller than Valerian remembered, broader and soft from easy living. “You don’t just walk in here after three years and take things. That old woman cost us money. Food. Electricity. Space." Valerian's eyes lifted slowly to meet his. "Move, Whistle." "Not until we talk compensation." Whistle smirked, clearly enjoying himself. "Someone had to feed her, water her, keep an eye on her all this time you were rotting in a cell. That's not free. Call it — I don't know — caretaking fees. Say, fifty grand, and we'll call it even." For a moment, Valerian simply looked at him. There was no fury left on his face now — only a terrible, quiet contempt. "I said move," Valerian said, this time, threatening. Whistle smirked and planted his feet wider. “Or what, jailbird? You going to—” Valerian didn't allow him to finish his statement. It happened too fast for Whistle to so much as flinch — a single kick catching him square in the midsection.

Valerian finally arrived at the Iverside clubhouse, walking up to the driveway on foot, his shirt still faintly stained with the smell of his mother's sickroom. He looked, by any measure that mattered to the people gathered here, like nothing at all. Two security guards stationed at the grand entrance clocked him from thirty feet away, and their postures shifted instantly — shoulders squaring, hands drifting toward their belts. "Hold it right there." The taller of the two guards stepped into his path, palm raised flat against Valerian's chest. "Where do you think you are going? This is a private event." "I'm aware," Valerian said evenly. "I need to get inside." The guard's eyes raked over him, top to bottom, lingering on the state of his shoes with open disdain. "Yeah, I don't think so. This isn't a shelter, pal. Try the service entrance two blocks down if you're looking for scraps." The second guard snorted, arms crossed over his ch

Neil crashed into an empty table, silverware and glassware exploding outward in a shower of crystal shards, and slammed against the floor, gasping, unable to so much as lift his head. Valerian carried his sister two steps back, cradling her gently, checking the wound at her arm with a flicker of pain crossing his features before he set her carefully down behind him, shielding her with his body. Then he turned, and began walking toward Neil, slowly, the way a predator walks when it already knows the outcome and simply wants to savor the last few seconds of the chase. The killing intent radiating off him was thick enough that guests three tables away instinctively pushed their chairs back. Neil scrambled backward on his elbows, his composure entirely gone, his expensive suit smeared with wine and blood. "Wait — wait, this is a misunderstanding, I was just — I wasn't going to actually—" "You put your hand on my sister's throat," Valerian sa