The Scythes in the Dark
Evan, who was alone in the hospital room, had no idea what the Jones family truly thought of him.
The private ward was quiet.
Too quiet.
The soft hum of medical equipment filled the air while the faint smell of disinfectant lingered around the room. Moonlight filtered through the tall window, spilling pale silver across the floor.
Evan lay on the hospital bed, half-reclined, bandages wrapped around parts of his torso and arms.
Two hours had passed since the doctors finished treating him.
His breathing had stabilized.
But the humiliation still burned.
His fists slowly clenched against the bedsheets.
Julian D'Aurelius.
The name alone made his jaw tighten.
Just then—
The door opened quietly.
Four men in black suits walked in from outside.
Their movements were disciplined and silent, like shadows slipping into a room.
Each of them wore a ring on their right hand.
A black metal ring engraved with the image of a scythe.
The Scythe Image Ring.
