Chapter 7:Milha‘il Ra Ghul

I watched as the girl stirred, her eyes fluttering open. She looked dazed, her body trembling from the ordeal. The ceremony had taken its toll, as it always did. The ritual didn't kill the person; it killed their weakness, their fear. Outsiders may see us as monsters, but this process made us stronger. To survive the ritual was to shed the weight of your past and emerge reborn.

Those who returned were no longer the same. They were new, ready to start over.

Revien stood off to the side, a glimmer in his eye. It was a look I hadn't seen on him in years, not since he was a boy staring up at his mother. It surprised me—shocked me, even. Revien rarely showed emotion unless he was taking a life. And yet, here he was, looking genuinely happy that the girl had survived.

The whole time we'd waited for her return, Revien had been tense, as though the outcome mattered to him in a way I couldn't fully grasp. For the first time, he looked frightened, an expression I'd never thought him capable of. It was clear that this girl meant something to him.

And now, she was my bargaining chip.

Hayeon would be the key to pushing Azail toward his potential, to finally making him the man he was destined to be. She was young, but from what Shavon had told me, she was strong. With proper training, she could be an invaluable addition to our guild.

I stepped forward and steadied her frail body, helping her stand. Her legs wobbled beneath her, but I held her firm. Taking the black dust from the ceremonial bowl, I marked a symbol on her forehead.

"Your name," I said, my voice calm but commanding.

The girl blinked, still too disoriented to answer.

"Hayeon," Revien said quietly, stepping forward.

I nodded and wrote her name in Arabic on her forehead. As I finished, the men surrounding us bowed their heads in unison. The heavy doors groaned open, and a line of maids entered.

I turned to the maids and handed Hayeon off to them. She remained in a dissociative state, her eyes unfocused as they carefully guided her out of the room. Revien followed closely, his gaze never leaving her.

I stood there for a moment, watching him until he disappeared from view. Slowly, the other men filed out, leaving only Shavon and me.

"She doesn't seem strong," I said, drying myself off as we made our way down the dimly lit hallway.

Shavon followed, his steps steady and measured. "She killed her father," he replied. "The man abused her and her mother. She ended it."

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And how did you come by this information?"

"The neighbors," Shavon said. "A group of local hoodlums saw the whole thing. Didn't say a word to the cops—said the father had it coming."

I leaned against my desk, rubbing my chin thoughtfully. "And the mother?"

Shavon's expression darkened. "Dead."

I nodded, staring at the ceiling for a moment. Life had taught me that suffering was universal, sparing no one—not even children. My own father had killed my brother and sister, and he'd tried to kill me, too. But I hadn't allowed it.

"How did she survive after that?" I asked. "Group home? Shelter?"

Shavon cleared his throat. "She stayed with a group of men for a while. Then she left and lived on her own. From the looks of it, she barely found enough food to sustain herself."

"She'll live a better life here," I murmured.

Walking around to my desk, I sat down and stared at Shavon. His jaw was tight, his posture rigid. There was something else on his mind.

"Speak," I sighed.

Shavon hesitated, his eyes narrowing. "What if she doesn't want to be here?" he asked. "You saw how in shock she was."

Shavon was a U.S. Army vet, one of the best—a true elite. He was intelligent, resourceful, and dangerous. When he decided to leave his post, the U.S. government labeled him a liability. They wanted him neutralized, just another loose end to tie up.

He'd gone home to his wife and child, only to find them slaughtered. That loss had broken him, turning him into a hollow shell. When I found him, he was lost, barely holding on. Through battle and brotherhood, he rebuilt himself here, becoming one of my strongest allies. But the loss of his child had left a scar, one that never healed.

I knew why he cared about Hayeon. She reminded him of what he'd lost.

"Shavon," I said, clicking my pen against the desk. "Bhay Mitao is not a place for those with unresolved identities. Hayeon has left her past behind. She is new."

He said nothing, his jaw tightening further.

"Since you're so concerned," I continued, "you'll watch over her. You'll be the one to train her."

Shavon's mouth opened slightly, but he quickly closed it, his expression conflicted.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the desk. "You said she might not want to stay here, but we both know that's not true. She'll have a roof over her head, food in her stomach, and someone to care for her." I pointed at him.

Sitting back in my chair, I allowed a small smile to tug at my lips. "Hayeon is an orphan, Shavon. She's young and has been alone for far too long. Orphans crave love. You'll give her that."

My smile widened as I saw the flicker of doubt in his eyes.

"She'll be kept on a leash, just like my son," I added. "And you'll be the one holding it."