"Quick, restrain him! Don't let him get away! Get the police on the line immediately!"The shout acted as a catalyst, and before Roman York could even process the shift in the room's energy, a group of local antique dealers—men who had been ready to mock Liam seconds ago—surrounded him. Their faces were twisted with the particular brand of fury reserved for those who had almost been swindled."You absolute piece of trash!" Caleb Crawford spat, pointing a trembling finger at Roman. "Selling forged relics in a place like the Orion Gallery? You almost made me look like a fool! Go to hell!"Caleb turned on his heel, his face a mask of indignation as he attempted to beat a hasty retreat toward the exit. However, as he stepped toward the heavy glass doors, the air seemed to shimmer for a fraction of a second. Before he could take another stride, Liam Livingston was standing directly in his path, his posture relaxed but his eyes as hard as flint."You've got

The proclamation of Dame Beatrice cut through the heavy air of the grand hall like a gavel, intending to finalize the professional execution of her granddaughter. But before the echo of her voice could even fade, Liam stepped out from the periphery. His posture was no longer that of the stoic househusband; he stood with a rigid, undeniable gravity."I object," he said. The words weren't shouted, yet they filled every corner of the room.For a heartbeat, the hall was plunged into a vacuum of silence, only to be shattered by a collective, jagged eruption of laughter from the assembled Montgomery Clan."Am I hearing things? Did the stray actually just voice an opinion?" one cousin jeered, wiping a tear of mock-mirth from his eye."Someone remind him that just because he's on a first-name basis with the Proprietor of the Harbor Grand and the CEO of Lumina Corp, it doesn't mean he's earned a seat at the adults' table!" Preston added, his voice dripping with condescens

Liam Livingston stood amidst the oppressive opulence of the main hall, the air thick with the scent of old mahogany and silent judgment. He cast a casual, almost bored glance across the assembled members of the Montgomery Clan. His eyes swept over their designer suits and rigid postures before he let out a soft, deliberate scoff. It was a sound low in volume but deafening in its implication—a noise that stripped away their pretenses of superiority and left them naked in their embarrassment.The mockery embedded in that single exhale was undisguised, sharp as a razor. It landed physically on the room, causing the faces of every Montgomery present to darken with a mixture of indignation and suppressed rage. Dame Beatrice, seated at the head of the room like a withered queen on a crumbling throne, fixed him with a gaze that flickered between murderous intent and grudging wariness. Under the weight of her scrutiny, Liam didn't flinch. Instead, he turned on his heel, his movem

The atmosphere within the Orion Gallery was thick with the scent of aged parchment and the electric hum of high-stakes commerce, but as Liam Livingston leaned closer to the unrolled scroll, a different scent hit him—one that didn't belong in a climate-controlled sanctuary of art. It was faint, nearly imperceptible to the untrained nose, but to someone like Liam, who had begun to sense the world through the heightened perception of an Initiate, it was as loud as a siren. Underneath the delicate aroma of ancient ink lay the damp, cloying stench of Corpse-Scent—the unmistakable smell of wet earth and stagnant decay that only comes from deep, subterranean chambers.Liam's eyes narrowed, his gaze tracking the edges of the silk mounting. There, tucked into the microscopic crevices of the wooden roller, were stubborn grains of dark, mineral-rich silt. This wasn't the dust of a library or the grime of a private study. It was fresh grave-dirt.This thing didn't come fro

The rhythmic lapping of the dark Atlantic water against the rusted pilons of Pier 42 provided a somber soundtrack as the high-intensity adrenaline of the confrontation began to ebb. Liam Livingston stood amidst the unconscious bodies of the grave robbers, the cold harbor wind whipping at the edges of his coat. He slowly lowered his smartphone, the screen's glow fading as he tucked it back into his pocket."It's done," Liam said, his voice steady despite the surreal carnage surrounding them. "I've spoken with your dispatch. Your colleagues are mobilized and should be touching down at this location within thirty minutes."Officer Miller did not immediately respond. She lay against the cold concrete, her body still partially claimed by the numbing effects of the Paralysis Draft. Her eyes, however, were wide and piercing, locked onto Liam with an intensity that seemed to scan his very soul. She remained silent for several long minutes, the only sound between them being the dis