CHAPTER 9 : STRINGS OF THE PUPPETMASTER

I've never been one to play the double agent, but survival often demands that we wear masks. Growing up without a mother, my father, Santiago, made sure I became a weapon instead. By the time I was a hundred years old, I had mastered our powers, spoke more languages than I could count—from Kiswahili to Russian and even Portuguese—and learned to fit into any world. For the first century of my life, I was homeschooled, isolated from the human world. But after the Grand War, when I lost so many friends to senseless bloodshed, I couldn't take it anymore. I left without a word, determined to distance myself from the clan and its brutal ways.

But Santiago never lets go of a potential asset. Sixteen years passed before he sought me out again, not out of concern for my well-being, but because he had heard whispers—whispers about a child who might carry a biological footprint similar to Sebastian's. When Santiago gets leverage, he makes it his obsession, regardless of the collateral damage he causes. So he found me, not caring why I left so abruptly or if I had been okay during those years. Loyalty to the clan is paramount, and so we struck a deal: he would fund my assignment, and I would report back to him.

Now, as I prepare for this party, I can feel Liam's eyes on me, filled with suspicion. He's right not to trust me. I wouldn't trust me either.

The room where I'm getting ready is small and understated, but I've made it my own over the years. The walls are painted a soft cream, their simplicity complemented by a few well-chosen pieces of art—mostly landscapes that remind me of places I've visited in different times and different lives. A full-length mirror, its wooden frame chipped from years of use, stands against one wall, reflecting the soft glow of the late evening light filtering through sheer, white curtains. The faint scent of lavender drifts from a bundle of dried flowers hanging near the window, a touch of calm in a life that offers so little.

On the bed lies a dress of deep crimson, the colour of rich wine, which I've chosen for tonight. The fabric shimmers slightly as I run my hands over it, cool and smooth under my fingertips. I stare at it for a moment longer, feeling a familiar pang of uncertainty. Lucas has been on my mind constantly. There were moments during our recent interactions when I could sense something wasn't right. He seemed distracted, more so than usual. The thought nags at me—could there be something I'm missing?

I pull myself away from these thoughts as I slip into the dress, letting the fabric hug my form. Standing in front of the mirror, I apply the final touches to my makeup, each stroke of the brush methodical, each layer of concealer another mask to hide behind. I take a deep breath, pushing aside the unease that lingers in the pit of my stomach. Tonight, I have to be perfect. Tonight, I have to be the weapon my father trained me to be.

By the time I arrive at the party, the estate is alive with activity. The house, a sprawling mansion on the outskirts of town, is bathed in warm, golden light that spills out from every window. Laughter and music float through the air, mingling with the heady scent of jasmine that wafts from the well-tended gardens. Groups of people gather in the manicured lawns, their conversations a low hum that blends seamlessly with the clinking of glasses and the distant strumming of a live band.

Stepping inside, the air is thick with opulence. The entrance hall is grand, with high ceilings adorned with intricate mouldings and a chandelier that casts a thousand tiny reflections across the polished marble floors. The walls are lined with ornate mirrors and portraits, each piece a testament to wealth and status. Every detail in the room screams luxury, from the plush velvet drapes framing the windows to the delicate crystal decanters set on the mahogany side tables.

I take a moment to soak in the scene, my eyes sweeping over the room, noting the faces, the interactions, the subtle shifts in body language as people navigate the social maze before them. It's a dance of power and influence, one I'm all too familiar with. My thoughts keep drifting back to Lucas. His reluctance to attend this party had been palpable, but he showed up anyway, perhaps out of curiosity or obligation to his brother.

As my gaze searches the room, it lands on Lucas and Liam. Lucas stands tall, his posture composed, but there's a tightness to his jaw, a tension that betrays his unease. His eyes scan the room, sharp and observant, taking in every detail, every person. Liam, on the other hand, is more openly guarded, his brow furrowed slightly as he catches sight of me. The suspicion in his eyes is unmistakable, a stark contrast to Lucas's more measured approach.

I approach them with a smile, careful to keep my tone light and friendly. "Isn't it the twins, my guests of honour? So, any comments?"

"Well, not bad, but it won't be something I'll familiarise myself with…let's say not my style," Lucas remarks, his voice carrying a hint of detachment, his gaze not fully meeting mine.

"Yep, too loud," Liam adds, his tone curt, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studies me.

"Well, you only live once, don't you? Right… c'mon, you weren't curious what goes down in normal high school parties, not even a tiny bit?" I let out a light giggle, trying to ease the tension hanging in the air.

Liam raises an eyebrow, suspicion etched into every line of his face. He's not fooled by my casual demeanour, and I can sense the challenge in his gaze. But I won't let his wariness cloud Lucas's judgement.

"Well then, I'll leave you two to it. Enjoy yourselves," I say, offering a parting smile before I turn and walk away. The opulent room feels smaller now, the walls closing in as the weight of my assignment settles on my shoulders. I need to stay focused; I need to get more information from Lucas. But a gnawing question keeps circling in my mind—why am I even doing this?

The night wears on, the party becoming more vibrant as the music swells and laughter grows louder. I find myself stepping out onto the balcony, craving a moment of solitude. The air outside is refreshingly cool, the scent of the garden flowers mingling with the faint traces of cigarette smoke from a few guests loitering near the garden's edge. The sky above is a deep indigo, dotted with stars that twinkle like distant diamonds.

I lean against the stone balustrade, feeling the coolness of the marble seep into my skin as I close my eyes, taking in the distant sounds of the party. There's a part of me that longs for the quiet, the simplicity of a life not entangled in secrets and lies. But that life is out of reach now, buried beneath layers of deception and duty.

Just as I pull out my phone to send a quick message to Santiago, I hear footsteps approaching. I slip my phone back into my purse, quickly composing myself before turning to face Lucas.

"I hope I'm not interrupting something?" he asks, his voice soft yet laced with genuine concern.

"No, not at all," I reply, flashing a reassuring smile.

 "I didn't get a proper chance to say—you look lovely tonight." His grin is slight, but it softens the lines of worry on his face, catching the moonlight just right.

"Thank you," I say, letting my tone be as light as the breeze that rustles the leaves nearby. "You're not looking too bad yourself."

He returns the smile, but there's something deeper in his gaze, a mix of caution and a willingness to trust that seems almost fragile. "Liam doesn't trust you, and I always believe his judgement," he says, his voice carrying a seriousness that belies his age.

I nod slowly, understanding the weight behind his words. "Well, I get it. Blood is thicker than water, right? But aside from believing his judgement, what's your point of view?"

Lucas hesitates, his eyes searching mine as if trying to gauge the sincerity of my intentions. "I'm here, aren't I? That should speak volumes. Liam constantly thinks I might tip over the edge, and he tries his best to look out for me, but…" He pauses, his gaze holding mine with a quiet intensity. "I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. Just don't cross him, because if you cross him, you cross me. I want to make this thing—this friendship we're forming—a chance. So, what do you think?"

I take a moment to process his words, appreciating his directness. It's rare to find someone so genuine, especially in our world. "I can roll with that. You know, I envy your relationship with your brother. It reminds me of someone I once knew, but they left our world a long time ago. So, yeah… but one piece of advice from your new friend: don't let go of what you have with Liam. This world is darker than you can ever imagine."

I hold his gaze, hoping he understands the gravity of what I'm saying. But before I can say more, Lucas suddenly grimaces, his hand shooting to his stomach. His knees buckle, and he collapses onto the floor, his face contorted in pain.

Panic surges through me as I drop to my knees beside him, my heart pounding in my chest. "Lucas! Lucas, what's wrong?"

He groans, his voice barely a whisper, "Get Liam…please…"

Without a second thought, I spring to my feet and race back into the party, the vibrant music and laughter now feeling jarringly out of place. My eyes scan the room frantically until I spot Liam near the porch, engaged in conversation, completely unaware of the unfolding crisis.

"Liam!" I shout, my voice trembling with urgency. "It's Lucas… he…"

I don't have to finish my sentence. The moment Liam sees my face, the horror in his eyes mirrors my own. He pushes through the crowd with a strength fueled by pure fear, sprinting towards the balcony where Lucas lies.

I follow, dread curling in the pit of my stomach. This is no ordinary collapse—something far more powerful is at play.

We call an ambulance and ride with Lucas to the hospital. In the waiting room, Liam's gaze is sharp with unspoken questions, suspicion laced in every glance he throws my way. When the doctor emerges, he tells us Lucas will be fine, though they're still puzzled by his symptoms. I let Liam go in first to see him, knowing he needs this moment with his brother.

Eventually, I step into the room, guilt weighing on me.

"Hey, nerd," I whisper, stepping closer to Lucas's hospital bed.

"Hey…" he murmurs, struggling to speak. "What… happened?"

"The doctors can't say for sure, but they've managed to ease the pain," Liam replies, his face shadowed with worry.

"Huh… Maybe I should listen to Mom more," Lucas mumbles, trying to smile

Suddenly, as he speaks, a subtle but alarming transformation begins to occur. Lucas's eyes darken, swirling with an unnatural intensity, his skin taking on an ashen pallor that wasn't there before. His breathing grows shallow, and the machines in the room begin beeping erratically.

Liam stares, panic spreading over his face. "What… what's happening to him?" he stammers, eyes darting to me with a fierce accusation.

I stand frozen, realising that I'm witnessing the very thing Santiago hoped to confirm: Lucas's supernatural nature. His true lineage, hidden until now, is surfacing right before our eyes.

Liam grabs his phone, his hands trembling. Without a word, he turns from the room, his voice low as he speaks to someone, desperation evident in his tone. I can't make out the words, but it's clear he's reaching out for help—someone he believes can explain or protect his brother.As the gravity of the situation sinks in, one horrifying thought roots in my mind: Lucas is transforming. I realise this event has proven Santiago's suspicions right. Lucas and Liam are indeed the sons of Sebastian , hybrids. And now that I know, I can't shake the feeling that this knowledge will come at a heavy price.