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Chapter 112: The Gilded Cage of Mayfair (P 2)
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2026-01-03 13:31:04…continuation
The Confrontation: The Two Kings
The hallway went silent, the muffled music of the gala downstairs feeling like a heartbeat in another body. Arthur looked from Jinyan to Panni, the realization finally dawning on him.
"The Panni girl," Arthur whispered, a dark laugh bubbling in his throat. "So, the rumors were true. The Architect’s greatest tragedy. The sister who loved her brother. Tell me, Jinyan... does it feel different now that you know? Does the touch burn?"
Jinyan’s jaw tightened, but he didn't move. "We aren't here for the blood, Arthur. We’re here for the ring. The assets stay in the East. They belong to the people the Foundation served, not to a London trust that funds your polo matches."
"You think you can jus
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Panni followed, her lungs burning, her heart a frantic drum. She burst through the final gopura and onto the Great Terrace.The view was staggering—a five-hundred-meter drop into the emerald sea of the Cambodian jungle, the horizon stretching out into an endless, hazy blue. But in the center of the terrace, standing at the very precipice, was a stone altar.Jian was there.He was dressed in a simple white linen suit, looking like a ghost in the midday sun. He held the "Seventh Ledger" in his hand, the silver edges glinting. Beside him, strapped into a high-backed stone chair, was Grace.She looked small, her yellow raincoat a vivid spark against the
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"I don't know who the Vincents are," Panni said, her voice shaking but defiant. "And I don't know you. But I know that no honorable man threatens an old woman."Jinyan smiled—a thin, joyless line. "Honor is a Panni delusion. There is only the Protocol."He moved.It wasn't a human movement; it was a blur of calculated violence. He swung the staff in a wide arc, meant to sweep Panni’s legs. She dove into the mud, her body remembering reflexes her mind had forgotten. She rolled, coming up near a rack of drying fish. She grabbed a heavy wooden scaling knife—a crude, rusted blade, but it felt right in her hand."You fight like a Saint," Jinyan said, stepping over a kneeling fisherman without looking down. "Always reacting. Always
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[The Amnesia of the Monsoon]The world began not with a bang, but with the sound of a wooden paddle cutting through stagnant water.Panni opened her eyes to a ceiling of woven palm fronds. The air was thick enough to chew, a humid soup of dried fish, river mud, and the sharp, medicinal sting of eucalyptus. She tried to sit up, but her body felt like it was made of lead and broken glass. A jagged, white-hot pain bloomed behind her eyes, and with it came the terrifying realization: the world was a blank canvas.She knew how to breathe. She knew the taste of copper in her mouth was blood. But her name, her history, and the reason her hands were covered in silver-grey scars were gone—dissolved in a green mist she could almost still smell."Don't move, Sr
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"Who are you?" Panni breathed, her world spinning."I am Arthur’s masterpiece," the man said. "The Architect had two sets of twins. But he also had a Draft. I am the first successful 'Equilibrium' specimen. I am the one who survived the Great Purge of 1998. You can call me Jian-2, if you like labels. But Jinyan calls me 'Brother.'""He’s a clone?" Panni whispered to Vira."No," Vira said, his voice a death rattle. "He is the Fourth Twin. The one the Architect hid in the East to act as the 'Overseer.' Jinyan knew about him. He’s been working with him since Romania."Panni looked at Jinyan on the altar. Jinyan’s eyes were filled with tears. "I had to, Panni. He promised... he promised to protect Grace from Kyoto. I didn't know... I didn't know
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[The Ossuary of the Saints]The heat of the Cambodian interior was a physical entity, a thick, humid weight that smelled of rot, wet stone, and the iron tang of ancient dust. As Panni, Grace, and the elder Vira pushed through the dense undergrowth of the Angkor Archaeological Park, the modern world seemed to dissolve. Here, the borders between history and nightmare were porous. They were no longer in the territory of corporations or global protocols; they were in the Dominion of the Architect.The path they followed was not a trail, but a sequence of half-buried stone markers—serpent heads carved from laterite, their eyes pointed toward a destination that didn't appear on any tourist map."The Vault is not beneath the great temple of Angkor Wat," Vira whispered, his breath coming in shallow hitches. He leaned heavily on his iron st
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