2025-11-06 20:15:08They didn’t go back to the office.
Elias didn’t say why.
The car moved through the city in quiet—no music, no idle conversation. Just the hum of the engine and the weight of what had happened still hanging between them.
Tessa sat beside him, hands steady in her lap, though her pulse hadn’t fully returned to normal.
The way he moved.
Not like a corporate magnate.
Like someone who used to survive by his hands.
The car stopped in front of a high-rise overlooking the river. Steel and glass cutting into the fog. Private. Quiet.
His residence.
The driver opened Tessa’s door.
Elias was already walking inside.
She followed.
The apartment was nothing like she expected.
No gold.
No curated art.
Just…
Space.
And silence.
Bookshelves, full.
A piano—left open, a sheet of music paused mid-page.
This was not the home of a man who flaunted wealth.
“Sit,” Elias said gently—not commanding, not cold.
Tessa sat on the low sofa.
“You’re not going to ask what that was,” he said.
“No,” Tessa replied.
He turned slightly, enough to see her expression.
“Why?”
“Because if I needed to know now, you would tell me.”
His eyes held hers.
Most people demanded answers.
Panicked when the world didn’t make sense.
Tessa didn’t.
That’s what unsettled him.
He took a slow breath.
“My father,” he said finally, “was not a kind man. But he was a thorough one. When I was young, I was taught that fear is never a weakness. Only ignorance is.”
That wasn’t a confession.
It was a truth.
Tessa listened. Not to respond. To understand.
“That café,” she said softly. “It’s the opposite of him.”
A flicker—gentle—crossed Elias’s face.
“Yes,” he said. “It was my mother’s way of fighting him.”
Silence. But not uncomfortable.
Tessa spoke again, voice low:
“And Cassandra?”
“She’s not the enemy,” Elias said. “She’s a messenger.”
“Then who’s the enemy?”
Elias looked back at the river—at the reflections broken by the current.
“Someone who thinks I should not exist.”
Tessa didn't ask why.
She didn’t need to.
She could feel it—buried history, unfinished war, the kind of danger that doesn’t announce itself.
Finally, Elias sat—across from her, not beside.
“Tessa,” he said, his tone quiet but unmistakably serious, “you have two choices now.”
Her pulse slowed.
She didn’t speak.
“You can walk away. Today. No penalty. No contract. No consequences.”
He held her gaze.
“Or you stay. And staying means you will see parts of this world you cannot unsee.”
Tessa didn’t look away.
“Do you want me to leave?” she asked.
“No,” he answered, without hesitation.
Her chest tightened—unexpectedly.
“Then I’m staying,” she said.
Not dramatic. Not emotional.
Elias’s eyes softened, more than she’d ever seen.
“Then,” he said quietly, “I owe you something I rarely give.”
Tessa waited.
“The truth,” he finished.
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THREADS THAT REFUSE TO DIE
The storm rolled in quickly, clouds muscling across the sky as if the heavens themselves were bracing for what Annabelle was about to uncover. She stood beside the window, watching the first drops of rain distort the glass. Each streak felt like a countdown—slow, deliberate, unavoidable.Ashton and Bernard were at the table behind her, maps and old documents scattered across the surface. The room felt too small for the weight of what they were trying to untangle. Every page they touched carried a ghost. Every name whispered a threat.Annabelle finally turned.“Start from the beginning,” she said. “From the moment my mother first realized something was wrong. Don’t leave anything out this time.”Bernard exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose, the exhaustion in his posture revealing just how long he had been carrying this secret.“She was working late one night,” he began. “Cross-checking accounts for the charity foundation she managed. She noticed a transfer that didn’t make sense… th
THE MASK OF THE TRUSTED
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THE WEIGHT OF PROMISES
The morning crawled in slowly, dragging pale light across the windows like someone gently lifting a veil after a long night of tears. Annabelle stood at the balcony rail, fingers curled around the cold metal, staring at the horizon as if the sun owed her an explanation for rising again. Behind her, the room felt too silent, too heavy, as though every breath inside the walls had grown cautious.She heard Ashton moving before she saw him. His footsteps were slow, not from sleepiness but from the quiet uncertainty that had been lingering between them since last night. He paused at the doorway, watching her slender back, the way her shoulders lifted and dropped with a deep breath she didn’t release fully.“Annabelle,” his voice finally reached her, low and careful, like he was approaching a wounded animal. “You’ve been out here for almost an hour.”She didn’t turn. “I needed the air,” she murmured, her tone soft but edged with exhaustion. “I didn’t sleep much.”“I noticed,” he said, walki
Embers of Dominion
Dawn broke unevenly over the city, casting fractured beams of light through the smoke and debris that still clung to the alleys. Luca walked with deliberate steps through the streets, muscles taut, senses sharp, every shadow a potential threat, every whisper a piece of information. The Warden’s trial had left him changed—not merely stronger, but clearer, more focused. The silver memory now burned like a lodestar in his mind, illuminating the paths others couldn’t see, revealing threats before they could strike, and exposing weaknesses others assumed hidden.The factions were restless. His first strike, the chaos of the previous nights, and now the reverberations of the trial had sent tremors through their ranks. Rumors of a returning predator spread quickly, carried by whispers, graffiti, and subtle signals that Luca alone could read with precision. The city itself seemed to pulse in anticipation, as if aware that its rhythm was about to be rewritten.He moved toward the industrial se
The Warden’s Trial
The night hung heavy over the city, cloaking it in shadows that stretched and writhed like living things. Luca moved through the streets with lethal precision, senses stretched to their limits, every nerve attuned to even the faintest tremor of danger. He could feel the pulse of the city beneath his feet—the steady rhythm of life, crime, and chaos—and it guided him like a compass, warning him of traps, ambushes, and unseen threats. Every building, alley, and rooftop was a potential battlefield, and every shadow might conceal a predator or a pawn.Tonight, the air carried more than the usual scent of asphalt, smoke, and decay. There was something else—an undercurrent of power, subtle yet unmistakable. It emanated from the old quarter, where the Warden had first trained him, where the silver memory had been forged and hidden away. Luca knew instinctively that the trial he had sensed in fragments of his memories was now manifesting. This was not merely a confrontation with enemies; it wa
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