CHAPTER TWO

Tristan

They say power is inherited. That it settles into your bones the moment you're born to the right name. But names are illusions. I've broken men with stronger names than mine.

I wake before the sun. Not because I need to—but because the quiet is the only time I can hear myself think.

The apartment is dark. High-rise. Clean lines and bulletproof glass. Everything in its place. No signs of the syndicate's bloodstained chaos. Just silence. My sanctuary.

The news is already playing in the background—more regulations from the Consuls, more restrictions on magic. Hypocrisy in sharp suits. I let it run. Noise doesn't bother me. Lies even less.

A message buzzes through my encrypted line. "Shipment landed. No interference. But Vale wants a word."

Darian Vale. My second-in-command. Loyal, useful, and annoyingly persistent. If he wants a word, something went sideways.

I dress in black. Always black. No need for distractions. In my world, softness gets you killed. And color? It screams care.

On the way out, I check the safe behind the mirror. Two guns. A vial of shadowroot. And the dagger my mother gave me the night she disappeared.

The elevator ride down is smooth. My driver waits. Black car, tinted windows. No insignia. No trace.

By the time we pull into the underground lot of one of our warehouses, my mask is on. Not literal—but worse. The version of me the world expects. The one that commands without blinking. That punishes without hesitation.

The workers fall silent when I step in. Not from fear, exactly. But reverence. I built this syndicate with precision and cruelty. I don't need their friendship. I need their results.

Vale is waiting near a stack of crates. "Everything's here," he says, not wasting time. "But the trackers on the eastern route were disabled for exactly six minutes."

Someone's probing.

I nod once. "Find out who. Quietly."

He doesn't ask why. He just moves. That's why he's still breathing.

Back in the car, I finally let myself lean back. My eyes drift shut, just for a moment. There's no peace in this life—but there is control. And I intend to keep it.

Even if it means tearing the whole Council down with my bare hands.