2025-07-07 07:01:57Rain painted the streets silver as Shepherd Nexon moved fast through the lower city. His breath steamed in the air. The train ride had been slow, but his feet were fast now. Every time he blinked, Zoya’s face appeared in his mind. Pale. Hooked to wires. Struggling to breathe.
His sneakers slapped wet pavement. He reached the hill that led to the Sinclair estate. The gates were already in sight.
Big cars filled the driveway. A glowing carpet stretched up the front steps. People in long gowns walked past each other, holding glasses and smiling fake smiles.
Music floated out from inside the mansion. The kind that had too many strings and not enough heart.
Shepherd stopped at the gate. His hoodie was soaked. His chest burned from running.
A guard stood in the small booth by the gate. Tall. Clean-cut. Face like stone.
“I need to speak to Arielle,” Shepherd said, his voice shaking more from emotion than cold.
The guard blinked. “Do you have an invitation?”
“No. It’s personal. It’s important. Please.”
“She is not taking personal visits. Especially not tonight.”
“She will want to hear this. I’m her—”
“I know who you are,” the guard said, cutting him off. The bartender .”
Shepherd’s jaw clenched.
“I don’t care what you think,” he said. “She is still married to me. I called her already. But she didn’t answer, just let her know I'm here.”
The second guard stepped forward. He was younger. Smirking.
“Maybe she blocked your number,” the young one said.
They both laughed.
Shepherd did not move.
“Let me through.”
“No,” the first guard said. “Go back to wherever you came from.”
The first guard pushed him back with a single hand.
“I said go.”
Then it happened.
His phone buzzed again.
He pulled it out and looked at the screen.
Saint Alden General: Critical Alert
Patient Zoya Nexon — Oxygen levels dropping. Immediate attention required.
Shepherd froze.
The screen blurred from the water on his face. He wasn’t sure if it was rain or tears anymore.
“Please,” he said again. “She’s dying. My sister is dying.”
The older guard shook his head. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”
The younger one chuckled. “Why don’t you try the back gate? Maybe they let losers in that way.”
Behind the trees there was a fresh laugh. More visitors coming.
Shepherd churned in his stomach. His heart beat. His whole blood seemed to have settled in his feet.
Then he looked at it.
A white catering van driving up the side road. Two men dressed in chef jackets emerged. One banged the back door shut. The other took up a tray of dishes covered with silver.
The van was a few steps away where Shepherd was standing.
A thought was born. Fast. Clear.
He walked away into the darkness, round a row of hedges. He stepped in wet shoes, squishing with each step. He went down on his knees and crawled until he was at the rear of the van.
The cooks had already started walking in the direction of the kitchen. One of them lost something and stooped to pick it up.
Shepherd was swift.
He opened the rear doors of the van, crawled into the van, and closed the doors behind him.
It was warm. Like cooked meat and polished silver. The walls were lined with trays and crates.
He was crouching between boxes, with a pounding heart.
Here it was. His last hope.
He would get in.
Not for Arielle.
Not to get even.
For Zoya.
The van moved slowly with a low hum. Shepherd drew his breath in as the car jerked through the front gates of the Leclair estates.
Shepherd crouched down between the crates, heart pounding. His knees sank into cold metal. The tray at his side rattled as the side door was jerked open. Then silence. Then distant footsteps .
He counted to ten.
Then opened the back door and slipped out.
He landed behind a row of bushes next to the servant’s entrance. The night was louder here. Music from the ballroom shook the ground. Laughter carried over the hedges. Somewhere, a string quartet played a song he remembered from a gala long ago.
Shepherd crouched and ran for the side of the house.
He found a small door half open.
Inside, the kitchen was chaos.
People rushed past each other carrying trays of food and buckets of ice. Someone cursed about the dessert being late. Another chef was yelling about overcooked lamb. Steam curled around the lights like mist.
Shepherd ducked into a supply closet.
It smelled like bleach and onions.
He changed fast, pulling on a spare uniform. White coat. Loose pants. Hairnet tucked into his hoodie. He looked into the small mirror hanging by a mop bucket.
He did not look like Shepherd Nexon anymore.
He looked like staff.
And staff could go anywhere.
He stepped out and picked up a tray of empty glasses. No one looked twice. He moved through the kitchen and into a long hallway.
The mansion looked just like he remembered.
Tall ceilings. Marble floors. Paintings that cost more than a year of rent.
He walked past the wine room, past the indoor garden, until he reached the ballroom doors.
Then he stopped.
Everything in him told him to breathe.
But the music was louder now. The lights brighter.
And then he heard it.
A voice he knew.
Louder than the rest.
“To love, to honor, and to forever grow stronger — may this night be the beginning of something beautiful.”
Glasses clinked.
Cheers followed.
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Latest Chapter
CHAPTER 11: THE GALA
Morning crawled in gray through the blinds, dust drifting in the stale air of Shepherd’s apartment. He sat on the edge of the bed with the unopened envelope on the table, staring at it like it was a snake waiting to strike. His fingers itched to tear it open, but his chest tightened each time he reached for it.He thought about Zoya. Her thin smile, the way her voice still shook when she tried to sound strong. He wondered if she’d know—if she could look at him and see the blood on his hands. He told himself he was doing it for her, that the debt was a chain he had to cut for her sake. It sounded noble in his head. In his chest it sounded like a lie.The system pulsed faintly, a line of static brushing the edge of his mind, as if it was waiting for him to slip. He shoved the thought away, stood, and finally picked up the envelope.---By nightfall, the bar looked the same as always—bottles glowing under the lights, laughter spilling from a corner booth, the thump of bass shaking dust o
CHAPTER 10 : A New Era
The city was wide awake—horns blaring, somebody laughing too loud on the next street, a siren cutting across the skyline—but Shepherd sat in the dead quiet of his bar as though none of it existed. His whiskey had gone warm in his hand. He turned the glass again and again, watching the faint light catch in it. A drink was supposed to take the edge off. Instead it only made the edges sharper.He kept hearing the shot. Not the gun itself—that was gone in an instant—but the way the man’s head snapped forward, the breath leaving him like a secret being forced out. Shepherd had thought there’d be something after. Regret maybe. Nausea. Relief. But there was nothing except a kind of hollow weight pressing down in his chest.The door opened. He didn’t lift his eyes. The steps told him enough—measured, heavy, like the man owned the air he was breathing.The Syndicate’s handler slid onto the stool across from him, suit too crisp for this place, cologne curling in the stale air. “Clean work,” the
Chapter 9: The Ghost system
It had been a few weeks since Shepherd had settled into his new life. The Syndicate had kept their word, giving him anonymity, a routine, and assignments that kept him occupied—tasks that were simple but full of subtle testing.The bar became his cover. It was in the heart of the city, tucked between towering buildings and crowded streets, yet it was bland enough for him to blend in. He worked long shifts, wiping down glasses, serving drinks, listening to the chatter of the patrons, each of them oblivious to the man who stood behind the counter, pouring their drinks.But even in the mundanity of it all, his senses were sharpened. He observed everything—the way people interacted, the small tells in their movements, the words they didn’t say. His cognitive sight was like a second instinct, and it allowed him to pick up things others wouldn’t notice. A drink lingering too long on the counter. A hand nervously tapping against the table. The glance exchanged between two men seated at a bac
Chapter 8: The First Mission
The room was softly blue, the shadows falling across his face sharp. His eyes read the map leisurely. Veins of lines crossed the digital surface. Routes. Entry points. Hidden markers. He could sense them. Not merely to see them--but to feel them throbbing with significanceShepherd was in front of the map that was glowing.“The mission is clear,” the figure said, his voice chilling. “Get in, get the Ember Bloom. Bring it back.”“Why this one?” Shepherd asked, his gaze narrowing slightly. “Why this plant?”The figure didn’t hesitate. “Because it’s vital for our next sequence. A plant like the Ember Bloom could change everything for us.”“Right,” Shepherd muttered, not satisfied with the answer. But he didn’t push. The Syndicate never gave answers unless they had to.The map zoomed in, focusing on the mountain facility buried in the heart of Eastern Europe. Shepherd had already studied the layout, memorizing every detail, every guard shift. This was his first mission and he had to make
Chapter 7 : The training ground
Shepherd remained on the middle mat.The ground under his feet was solid, yet his heart was beating louder than anything. His hands were bound. His arms were covered with sweat. The shirt was stuck to his back. The morning had been a drilling time, and now the actual test had arrived.His teacher turned to him.Tall. Masked. Calm. The man made every movement sharp and clean. As a knife that had been whetted by years of silent war.Think not, said the man. His voice was like steel. “Trust your instincts”Shepherd nodded.He drew a breath.Then another.He needed to pass this training. The Syndicate had assured him power. Control.Zoya’s wellbeing and Revenge.And that was his new purpose.The initial attack was quick.Too fast.A hand was swung at his face and cut through the air. The elbow of his instructor came next, to his jaw. Most would have blinked too slow to notice it. However, Shepherd was no longer like most people.He foresaw it before it actually occurred.Not only the punch.
Chapter 6: The price of salvation
The figure’s head tilted, just a little. “You will be given missions. Tasks to help you pay off your debt. If you do well, you will be rewarded. If you fail, there will be consequences. Once your debt is cleared, you will have a choice. You can renew your contract and work for us... or you can walk away and return to your old life.”The words sank in like cold water.Missions. Tasks. Rewards. Consequences.It sounded more like a trap than an offer. But Shepherd knew the truth. He had no way out. Not yet.His fingers curled into a tight fist.“I’ll do it,” he said quietly.The figure gave a small nod. Not surprised. Almost like he had expected Shepherd to say yes.“Training will begin soon,” the man said. “You will be taught how to serve the Syndicate. You must understand the work before you are sent into the field.”Shepherd gave a small nod, even though his stomach twisted. He did not know what they planned for him. He did not know what kind of world he was stepping into. But none of
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