The peace Vane Blackwood provided was a lie. Ren knew that now. It was a temporary shield, a "free trial" of safety that could be revoked the second Ren stopped being interesting.
The revocation happened at 2:00 AM.
Ren was woken not by an alarm, but by the sound of his front door being splintered off its hinges. The "charcoal suits" were gone. The protection had vanished.
"Where is it, Leo?! Where's the rest of it?!"
Ren lunged out of bed, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He ran into the kitchen to find his father pinned against the wall by a man Ren didn't recognize—a massive, scarred individual who smelled of cheap gin and old blood.
This wasn't one of Vane's polished soldiers.
This was a bottom-feeder. A scavenger.
"I... I told you! The debt was bought!" his father wheezed, his face turning a terrifying shade of purple.
"Bought by who? We didn't see a cent!" The man slammed Ren's father against the wall.
"The underground doesn't care about rumors of 'shadow masters.' We care about the vig. And since you're short... we'll start with the boy's fingers."
The man turned his gaze to Ren, a yellow-toothed grin spreading across his face.
"No!" Ren screamed, grabbing a kitchen knife. But he was exhausted, malnourished, and terrified. The man's partner, a thickset brute, easily swiped the knife from Ren's hand and threw him onto the floor.
The heavy thud of Ren's body hitting the wood felt like the end of the world. As the brute stepped on Ren's hand, crushing his fingers into the floorboards, Ren looked at the kitchen table.
The silver box was still there. The silver earring—the thorn—glinted under the flickering lightbulb.
I am the only god you'll ever pray to.
Ren realized then that the "thugs" hadn't just bypassed Vane's security. Vane had let them in. He had withdrawn his hand to remind Ren what the world looked like without his shadow.
"Please!" Ren choked out, tears of pain and fury blurring his vision. "Stop! I'll get it! I'll get the money!"
"From where, Pretty Boy?" the man laughed, reaching for a pair of rusty pliers in his back pocket.
"From him!" Ren shrieked. "From Vane Blackwood!"
The name acted like a physical barrier. The man with the pliers froze. The room went deathly silent. Even the air seemed to thin out.
"You're lying," the man whispered, his bravado wavering. "Blackwood doesn't deal with trash like you."
"Check my ear," Ren hissed, his voice trembling with a mixture of hatred and desperation. "Check the box on the table.
He's watching. He's always watching. And if you touch me before I give him what he wants... he won't just kill you. He'll erase you."
The thugs looked at the silver box. They saw the crest. The serpent coiled around the sword.
They backed away, eyes wide with a new kind of terror. They didn't apologize; they simply turned and bolted out of the ruined doorway, disappearing into the night.
Ren didn't help his father up. He couldn't move. He stayed on the floor, gasping for air, his crushed hand throbbing.
He crawled toward the table. His fingers shook as he reached for the silver hoop. With a wince of pain, he felt for the piercing in his left ear—a small hole he'd had since he was a teenager—and pushed the silver thorn through.
The metal was cold, then hot. It felt like a brand.
He stood up, his gaze hard, his soul feeling like it had finally turned to stone. He didn't pack a bag. He didn't grab a coat. He walked out of the apartment, down the stairs, and onto the rain-slicked street.
He didn't have to look for the car this time.
The black sedan was idling at the curb, its headlights cutting through the mist like the eyes of a wolf. The back door opened automatically.
Ren walked toward it. Each step felt like he was leaving his humanity behind. He slid into the buttery leather interior. The scent of cedarwood and tobacco was overwhelming now—thick, expensive, and suffocatingly male.
In the corner of the seat sat a tablet. On the screen was a map with a single destination marked in red: The Blackwood Estate.
And underneath the map, a message appeared in real-time:
>Good boy. You finally learned how to ask<
The Estate.
The gates were iron lace, opening silently to admit the car into a world of manicured lawns and gothic stone. Ren was led through the massive front doors by Elias, the stone-faced butler.
"The Master is in the library," Elias said, his voice devoid of emotion. "He has been expecting you."
Ren walked through the halls, his heels clicking on the marble. He felt small. He felt sold. He pushed open the heavy oak doors of the library.
The room was vast, filled with thousands of books and the scent of old paper. At the far end, behind a desk carved from a single piece of obsidian, sat a man.
Vane Blackwood didn't look up. He was reading a ledger, a fountain pen in his hand. The light from the fireplace flickered across his sharp features, casting long, demonic shadows against the walls.
Ren stood in the center of the room, soaking wet, his hand bruised, the silver thorn in his ear catching the light.
"I'm here," Ren said, his voice surprisingly steady. "Stop the interest. Stop the thugs. Save my father."
Vane slowly laid the pen down. He looked up, his stormy eyes raking over Ren from head to toe. When his gaze landed on the silver earring, a slow, predatory satisfaction crossed his face.
"You're late, Ren," Vane murmured, standing up. He was taller than Ren imagined—broader, more imposing. He walked around the desk, his presence filling the room until Ren felt like he was drowning.
Vane stopped an inch away. He reached out, his thumb grazing the silver thorn in Ren's ear, pulling slightly until Ren had to tilt his head up.
"I don't save people for free," Vane whispered, his breath hot against Ren's lips.
"You know the price. My son needs a husband. I need a masterpiece. And you... you need a master."
"I'll marry him," Ren choked out. "Just make it stop."
"Oh, you'll marry him," Vane smiled, and for the first time, it was a terrifyingly beautiful sight. "But you'll belong to me. Every breath. Every shiver. Every tear. Do we have a contract, Little Bird?"
Ren looked into the eyes of the devil and saw his entire future burning within them.
"Yes," Ren whispered.
Vane's hand moved from Ren's ear to the back of his neck, his grip possessive and iron-strong. "Then welcome home. Try not to break too quickly. I want to enjoy this."
"You're finally here, my rose🌹"