Chapter 2.

Yes master,” the heavily built, dark eyed guard said. He bowed, then walked out swiftly from the chamber. He needed no seer to let him know this mission was specifically his to carry out.

He set out in search of Bryce and the master's briefcase, not without a tracking device.

**

Bryce still crouched low beneath the narrow lip of the tunnel, knees aching against damp concrete. The stench of stagnant water clung to him, mixing with the coppery taste of blood still fresh in his mouth. His palms were slick, partly from sweat, partly from the grime coating the black briefcase he’d stolen.

There were no sirens now, no footsteps, and the cops wouldn’t come back here; they’d search the streets, the rooftops, anywhere but the place their prey had already vanished into. That was what he was counting on.

The lock clicked under his fingers,stubborn, almost mocking him. Each failed attempt left his breath shallower. If he could just crack it open…if he could see what was worth all that fight and blood. But he knew one thing. Whatever it is that was inside,ceas capable of changing his life. So he kept trying.

A prickle crawled down his spine.

It wasn’t sound, not exactly. More like the weight of eyes pressing against him from somewhere far above. He shook the thought off, but it lingered anyway, worming into the back of his mind.

Someone, somewhere, was watching. Not there with him, not anywhere in the tunnel. Someone, somewhere higher, was laughing at his futile efforts to unlock the briefcase.

The lock still refused him again, under its owners command. Not like Bryce hadn't imputed the right codes. He wiped his palms on his pants, muttering under his breath, forcing his thoughts away from that phantom gaze.

Bryce froze suddenly, the half-picked lock resting in his lap, the sound of his own breathing suddenly too loud in the damp silence. Something prickled along the back of his neck, subtle at first, like the faint tickle of a cobweb,but it grew heavier, and sharper, until his skin tightened and tiny bumps rippled across his arms.

Danger. It screamed.

He didn’t know why he thought it, but the word stamped itself into his mind, cold and certain. He lifted his head, scanning the shadows. Nothing. Just the sagging walls, a trickle of filthy water sliding past, and a scrawny stray cat crouched a few feet away, its yellow eyes glowing faintly in the dark.

But the feeling didn’t fade. It swelled, crowding out his breath.

Bryce gripped the briefcase tighter, his gaze darting left and right, but there was no one. No sound but the cat’s low, uneasy hiss.

Then, like someone pulling a curtain across his mind, the tunnel vanished.

He was back in that crumpled apartment he once called home. The stained ceiling sagged overhead, and the stench of mildew clung to the peeling walls. On the floor, his dad lay snoring heavily, one arm dangling limply from the torn couch. His stepmom was curled on the thin mattress beside his little sister, the three of them breathing slow, deep, and unaware.

The vision faded as quickly as it came, snapping him back into the damp tunnel.

But the pounding in his chest didn’t stop. If anything, it worsened. His fingers twitched around the briefcase before he shoved it aside. Now he knew the reason for the crawling sensation, the goosebumps, and the unshakable weight in his gut, it wasn’t for him.

It was for them, his dad, his stepmom, and his little sister.

Bryce shot to his feet, his legs already moving before his mind caught up. The tunnel’s stale air scraped his lungs as he broke into a run, boots slapping against wet concrete. Each stride only made the feeling sharper, like icy claws dragging down his spine.

He burst out into the streets, weaving through narrow alleys, taking turns without thinking. The city blurred around him, rusted metal shutters, broken sidewalks, the sour reek of trash. Still, the dread swelled, pressing against his ribs until he could barely breathe.

By the time his block came into view, his stomach had twisted into a hard knot. Then he saw it, people gathered in a wide circle, murmuring, shouting, and pointing.

It was his street. And their apartment.

Flames clawed at the sky, turning the smoke an angry black. The roof sagged in places, glowing like molten metal. Firefighters shouted orders, hoses spitting heavy streams of water, but each blast instead seemed to only feed the inferno, making the fire hiss and roar, as if mocking their efforts.

Bryce froze at the sight before him.

The heat from the flames licked at his face even from this distance, the acrid smoke stinging his eyes. Shouts, sirens, the frantic hiss of water against fire, none of it mattered. His chest felt hollow.

He had hated his father, resented him for remarrying just days after his mom’s funeral, for letting strangers walk into their home as if they belonged. He had hated his stepmother’s cold eyes, the way she always looked at him like a problem to be fixed, and his stepsister’s constant, mocking smirk.

But he had never wished them dead. Never.

And yet here he was, watching their home burn with them trapped inside.

The air around him seemed to thicken, pressing in on him, and before he could blink, the world shifted.

The fire had vanished. The crowd was gone. He was standing inside the cramped apartment again, but it wasn’t the same, it was a trance. A vision.

A man in a long black coat stepped through the doorway, the sound of his boots sharp against the floor. His voice was low, dangerous, each word carrying an unshakable authority.

“Where is he?” the man asked. “Where’s Bryce… and the briefcase?”

Bryce’s father tried to speak, but the man raised a hand. His fingers curled slightly, and his father’s throat seized as if gripped by an invisible vice. His face turned purple, his eyes bulging as he clawed at nothing.

A high-pitched scream tore through the room. It was his stepsister’s. She had run out from the back at the sound, her small hands clutching the doorframe.

The man released his father, letting him crumple to the floor, then turned without another word, to his stepmom, who laid frozen in fear. As he stepped outside, the air seemed to ignite.

The apartment exploded in a bloom of fire and debris, swallowing everything in an instant.

Bryce’s breath caught as the man’s head turned slightly, and he saw the face clearly now,m. His face was sharp, with merciless features lit by the glow of destruction. And on his neck, carved into the skin in dark, twisted ink, was a single word.

DERICK.

The vision shattered.

Bryce stumbled back into the present, his heart slamming against his ribs. His hands trembled violently. This wasn’t just a theft. This wasn’t just another night on the streets.

He had stolen from a deadly monster.

His mind was in a raging storm.

The fire, the vision, and the tattoo, they all played on a loop, but underneath it was one truth that chilled him more than the night air. By now, Master Derick knew. Knew his name. Knew his face. Knew everything about him.

That was the only explanation for the man in the coat, for the precision of the attack. Derick didn’t send even threats, he sent hunters who hunted immediately.

And one was already after him. His family was gone, so he definitely was the next target.

The thought tightened his chest until it hurt. His instinct screamed a single word.Run.

Run for his life. Run far enough to disappear.

But where?

He bit down on the inside of his cheek, forcing himself to think. There wasn’t a place on these streets, or in this city, or maybe even in this country, that Derick couldn’t touch. His reach was everywhere, his men were loyal, his power absolute. So getting him tonight wasn't going to be tough.

Except…

Bryce’s thoughts slowed, snagging on the only loophole he could think of.

No master could touch another master’s student. It was the oldest law in their world, and even Derick wouldn’t risk breaking it, not unless he wanted a war.

If Bryce could get to another master, someone stronger than Derick, he might just live to see another sunrise.

Only one name came to mind.

Dom.

The strongest. The one even Derick was said to give space to. Bryce had never met him, but he’d heard the whispers. He remembered his mother’s voice, low and tense, speaking of Dom as if saying his name too loudly might draw his attention. Dangerous, she’d said. Ruthless. The family he ruled could shake governments.

He had also heard his father once say there were only two names the government feared. Dom first, and Derick second.

And right now, the second most dangerous man in the world wanted him dead.

That meant his only hope… lay with the first, if he wanted to survive.