My father turned to me, not with an order, but a dismissal. A flick of his hand, like I was nothing more than a wisp of smoke he could wave away.
So I left.
Because that’s what I’d been trained to do.
That night, I stood outside the study door, one hand pressed flat against the wood. The wards hummed under my touch—silent, ancient magic designed to keep boys like me on the outside of power.
I couldn’t hear the words inside. But I didn’t need to. I knew what was being bartered.
My magic. My future. My leash.
I remember thinking—just once—that maybe they’ll take me. Maybe they’ll pull me from this house of rot and turn me into something sharp and terrible and free.
But they didn’t.
They left before dawn, robes trailing, silence intact. Not a single glance was spared in my direction as they vanished through the gate.
I wasn’t chosen.
I was cataloged.
The lesson burned into me deeper than any brand: the magistrate don’t rescue. They collect.
When I opened the door, Eldric’s frosted eyes swept over me, unblinking. “Ah, Shadow,” he said smoothly. “We trust this is a convenient time?”
“As convenient as it can be,” I replied with a polite nod, masking my unease. “To what do I owe thehonor?”
“May we come in?” Vaelen said. There was a dangerous undertone in his voice, like a dagger sheathed in silk.
I hesitated for the briefest moment. Refusing them would be suicidal. “Of course. This way.”
Now, years later, the front door creaked wide again, and Eldric stepped through like no time had passed at all. He looked the same.
Which made it worse.
“We won’t take much of your time.” His voice was still like honey over poison.
I straightened, uncoiling like a blade being unsheathed. I was taller now. Older. No longer manacled. No longer obedient.
But that obsolete boy still lived beneath my skin.
I smiled without warmth and gestured for them to follow me. “Then don’t waste it.”
I led them to the receiving room near the entrance, the closest room to the door. I wasn’t about to invite them deeper into my fortress when I didn’t know what the hell they wanted.
The three magistrates moved through the room with an unsettling grace, their presence sucking the air from the space. As I motioned toward the chairs, Eldric remained standing, his icy gaze drifting over the room. Caladorn sat, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the armrest. Vaelen moved to the nearest wall, trailing a pale hand along the illusion-veiled surface.
“Charming décor,” Vaelen remarked, his storm-gray eyes narrowing as though the illusioned room offended his sensibilities. “Have you ever considered redecorating?”
I ignored the jab. After all, they were not seeing my fortress as it actually stood. They saw what I wanted them to see—a well-crafted illusion to make my home seem as inhospitable as possible and my territory look like an absolute fucking dump.
Tension pricked at my spine, but I kept my voice calm. “What brings you to my estate?”
Eldric clasped his hands behind his back and turned to face me. “We’re here to ensure there are no misunderstandings,” he said evenly. “Particularly misunderstandings that lead to chaos, like those that recently unfolded in Vincenzo’s territory.”
My neutral expression didn’t waver, but inwardly I cursed. So, this was about the so-called feud between mafia lords. “You’re concerned about my territory.”
“Concerned?” Caladorn said with a laugh, leaning back in his chair. “I prefer to call it interested. Your territory has a reputation. One that, frankly, doesn’t align with the standards we expect.”
