C3

"Is the Blackmoor Syndicate really your former mate's operation, Xender? Why in the hell did they reach out to me instead of just asking you directly?"

"Because I was just a ghost in his house, Nyx. I offered to help with their internal security leaks months ago. Tristan told me to stay in my lane and quit causing trouble for the pack. He wanted a soldier, not a strategist. Turns out, he didn't even want the soldier."

"So you just let them rot? That doesn't sound like you."

"We’re done, Nyx. I signed the severance papers this morning."

"Wait, you actually did it? The blood-bond is snapped? I’ve been telling you for three years that Tristan Blackmoor was a parasitic bastard who couldn't handle your light. You spent a decade pining for that man and three years being his loyal hound while he held onto the scent of that ex-mate of his. I tried to talk sense into you, but you were dead set on making it work. I guess you had to bleed out before you realized the wound was fatal."

"I learned the lesson. It took a silver blade to the heart, but I'm awake now. From this moment on, the only thing I'm hunting is growth. My career as the Ghost is the only thing that gets my blood pumping."

"Now that’s what I want to hear! Power over sentiment, every single time. Forget the romance, Xender. Your influence in the Nightfall Territory is what matters. So, what’s the play for this contract? We can walk away from those hundred million credits right now and watch the Blackmoor Pack collapse under the Council's fines. They’d get exactly what they deserve."

"You kept the response vague, right? Just like we always do?"

"Of course. Standard operating procedure. We gave them a 'preliminary interest' ping but left the details in the dark. It gives us the window to vet the client, though we already know exactly how much filth is under Tristan's claws."

"Good. If the Syndicate misses this Council deadline, they’ll owe the High Lords five billion in reparations. They’ll be bankrupt and exiled to the wastes by the next new moon."

"So we bury them?"

"Not yet. Let’s keep them on the hook. Send a message to their proxy. Tell them the Ghost will meet them at Silverfang Hall tonight at seven. Let’s see how much they’re willing to crawl."

"Tristan, stop pacing. I’m certain you’ll close this deal. No one says no to the Blackmoor name when there's this much money on the table."

"It’s not about the money, Seraphina. It’s about the leverage. But you're right. If we land the Ghost, the Syndicate is untouchable. I’m lucky you were the one to make the connection. Xender never could have handled a negotiation this high-level."

"I just want to see you succeed, Tristan. Once the Ghost signs on, everyone in the Nightfall Territory will know that I’m the one who truly supports your ambition. Not some disgraced Stormriven soldier."

"The meeting is set for seven. Keep the doors to the private lounge open. I want to see Raze Hollow the second he steps into the hall."

"Tristan... look at the corridor. Who is that?"

"Is that... Xender?"

"It can't be. Xender doesn't dress like that. He’s always in combat fatigues or those oversized sweaters."

"That’s him. But he looks... different."

"He looks like he’s hunting. Look at that suit. That’s tailored Nightfall silk. And his hair... he’s stopped hiding his face. He looks cold. Distant. Like he’s royalty instead of a discarded mate."

"I didn't think he had it in him to carry himself like that. He looks like a different wolf entirely. He’s not even looking our way. He’s walking like he owns the Hall."

"Tristan, stop staring at him. He’s just trying to get your attention by playing dress-up. He’s probably here hoping to run into you and beg for a second chance."

"He doesn't look like he's begging, Seraphina. He looks like he’s forgotten I exist."

"Wait, where is he going? That’s the VIP wing. Only the client for the Ghost is allowed back there."