The offshore platform, a titan of steel and glass rising from the black churn of the Atlantic, was Vane's ultimate fortress. It was cold, industrial, and isolated. Here, Vane intended to regroup, his eyes fixed on the surveillance monitors that tracked the destruction of his ancestral home.
But the platform had a leak.
It happened in the third hour of the morning. Vane was in the command center with Julian, mapping out the retaliation, leaving Ren in the sleeping quarters under a guard of four men.
The door didn't explode; it hissed open. The guards didn't scream; they slumped, needles buried in their necks before they could draw breath. Ren stood from the bed, his heart hammering a frantic, uneven rhythm.
"Vane?" he called out, his voice trembling.
A man stepped from the shadows. He wasn't a soldier in tactical gear like the Malatestas. He wore a sharp, charcoal suit, and his face was deceptively handsome, marred only by a cold, intellectual cruelty in his eyes.
"Vane is busy playing with fire, Little Bird," the man said. His voice was smooth, like silk over a razor. "My name is Daniel. I'm the one who taught the Malatestas where to strike. I'm the one who realized that Vane Blackwood finally has a pressure point."
Daniel stepped closer, his gaze raking over Ren with a sickening curiosity. "He's sacrificed everything for you. His reputation, his son's sanity, his very home. You aren't a masterpiece, Ren. You're a cancer. And I'm here to excise you on his brother's behalf."
Ren reached for a heavy glass carafe on the nightstand, but Daniel moved with a speed that spoke of years of calculated violence. He caught Ren's wrist, twisting it until the glass shattered on the floor.
"If I kill you, Vane becomes a martyr," Daniel whispered, leaning in close. "But if I take you... Vane becomes a dog on a leash. And I've always wanted to see the Great Blackwood bark."
Before Ren could scream, a cloth soaked in a sweet, chemical scent was pressed over his mouth. The world tilted, the silver thorn in his ear glinting one last time in the harsh fluorescent light before the darkness claimed him.
The Command Center.
Vane felt it before the alarm even sounded. A sudden, hollow ache in his chest—the blood-bond screaming that its other half was gone. He sprinted down the metal corridors, Julian close behind, but they found only an empty room and a single, taunting note left on the pillow.
> The masterpiece has been relocated. If you want him back, come to the city. Come alone. Come ready to kneel. — D.
>
Vane stared at the note, his face undergoing a transformation that made even Julian recoil. The humanity that Ren had fought so hard to instill in him didn't vanish—it curdled. It turned into a concentrated, nuclear rage.
Vane walked to the center of the command deck. He didn't pick up a phone. He took control of the emergency broadcast frequency—the one that reached every precinct, every underworld den, and every high-rise in the country.
His voice didn't shake. It was the sound of an ending world.
"This is Vane Blackwood," he began, his words echoing through the speakers across the nation. "A shadow has taken what is mine. You all know who I am. You know what I am capable of when I am bored. Now, imagine what I will do when I am hollow."
He Dialed his code for Blackwood contact.
"Brother, if you were the one who sent Daniel then I will take you down by all means!"
"But if you didn't, then don't interfere. Daniel has taken what belongs to me and I will have his head!"
Vane turned to Julian, his eyes glowing with a terrifying, unhinged light. "Lock down the borders. Buy the police. Buy the senators. If a single person sleeps tonight, they wake up in a cage."
He leaned into the microphone, his voice a low, lethal promise that vibrated through every radio in the country.
"No one will sleep! No one will rest! The world will cry until my soul is found! If Ren is not returned by dawn, I will burn this country to the waterline just to find his ashes!"
As Vane walked toward the elevator, checking the slide on his pistol, the very air around him seemed to bleed. He wasn't a Master anymore. He wasn't a father. He was a god of vengeance, and he was coming for his heart.