“Get dressed,” I murmur, throwing a pillow at him.
The boys fall into motion like clockwork, throwing uniforms on, buttoning cuffs, tying ties. Even with the tension in the air, it’s seamless. Like they’ve done this a thousand times. And maybe they have.
What stuns me more than the urgency is how natural this feels now. How I’m not just tolerated in this rhythm, I’m part of it.
By the time we head out, I’m in full uniform too, boots laced, jacket crisp, hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. Jace checks the hallway. Then we move.
When we reach the Guild building, I’m hit with it all at once.
The presence. The weight.
Guild members from every corner of the globe fill the grand chamber, older operatives in dark suits and long coats, younger recruits in sharp uniforms, commanders with scars and pins and reputations I’ve only heardwhispered about. They speak in clipped phrases, different languages, and quiet urgency. There’s no laughter. No small talk.
This isn’t a meeting. It’s a storm gathering. And I’m standing in the eye of it. My stomach twists.
Luca leans down beside me so his mouth is right against my ear, voice low. “Welcome to the big leagues, Ashthorne.”
Noah gives my wrist a subtle squeeze. Tex stays close, scanning every face that passes.
And Jace… Jace is still watching the room.
The room quiets like someone flips a switch. Voices drop. Movement stills. Dozens of eyes turn toward the massive oak doors at the far end of the hall as they swing open with a heavy thud.
Lucian Ashthorne enters without ceremony, with Max, Preston, and Derek trailing behind him.
He’s dressed in full Guild black, high-collared coat, gold insignia at his chest, shoulders squared with a kind of ruthless command that doesn’t ask for respect. He demands it.
Jace stiffens beside me. Luca straightens from where he was lounging against the wall. Even Tex shifts his stance. Only Noah doesn’t move, but his expression sharpens, gaze locked on Lucian’s face like he’s already calculating three steps ahead.
Lucian reaches the center of the room.
His eyes scan the crowd, not rushing, not lingering. Just marking.
Then he speaks. “In the Guild, we live by a code.”
Silence. No one dares interrupt.
“We do what others cannot. We go where others won’t. We act when others hesitate. But with that power comes discipline. Control. Purpose.”
He pauses. “And the knowledge that taking a life is not a line to cross lightly.”
His gaze sweeps the room again. “There are exceptions. There always have been. In combat. In self-defense. To prevent greater loss. These rules stand, and they will continue to stand.”
He steps forward, voice hardening. “But he did not kill in defense. Hekilled because it suited him. Because it gave him power. Because it served his greed.”
“Daniel Mercer,” Lucian says, cold as steel, “was once one of us. He wore our crest. He took our oaths. And then he betrayed everything we stand for.”
My chest goes tight. Like a rubber band being stretched to the absolute maximum. The boys are silent around me. Watching. Listening.
Lucian continues, “He took a life. And then another. And then,” his voice falters, just briefly, “he took my family.”
A flicker of emotion. Gone in a blink.
“He disappeared with my daughter. With her mother. Hid them from me. Lied. Manipulated. And now, after all these years, he resurfaces, not in peace, not in remorse, but with blood on his hands and a growing list of black-market contacts that point to something far more dangerous than one man going rogue.”
He turns, voice rising. “He is recruiting. Building something. A shadow network of mercenaries, forgers, and weapon smugglers. We’ve intercepted messages. Watched transactions. He’s planning something large. Strategic. And fast-moving.”
Lucian’s expression hardens to stone. “He’s gearing up for war.”
