The mystique

t bac

e, stalling like the system was unsure whether to let me in. It never did that. Not once in all the years I'd returned home ha

no diplomatic plates, no insignia. Rental tags, anonymous models. The kind used by pe

sting the windows in a soft orange haze that gave the estate a sickly, distorted look. The front doors were slightly ajar.

onal effects from behind glass panels. Family heirlooms. My family's legacy, reduced to inventory. I spoke-demanded answers, names, anything-but not

case, and into the west corridor. The air was colder here. The halls narrower. The house had always been old,

sat in my fat

catching the silver at his temples. He looked at me the way a landlord looks at a

you'd get here," he sa

" I asked, my voice

Heart failure, one night ago.

ouldn't. He swirled the liquid in his glass, waiti

cing my voice out, thoug

d shortly after the funeral arrangements

g beneath it. "You're sitting in his chair. Giving an

... ambitions, understood that legacy must be kept in capable hands. Everything ha

sible. I've seen the papers. The

g foreign investors and grinning for the cameras, your father was consolidating. Prepari

dark. The one who made the unpleasant decisions

rd from the shadows-tall, broad-shouldered, wearing ea

red. "I could have had you removed quietly while you were

the surface. I could already feel the sha

said, my voice low, steady. "

another sip from his gla

he steps, but I walk

Good. At least the house still remembered

, and sat for a moment with my hands on the wh

he manor loomed. Cold. Si

ed the

for a brief second, I saw lights flick

n't w

d high, coat clean, power

ius thought

arn soon

m a