Chapter Two Blood Remembers

They call it loyalty.

In our world, loyalty is currency spent carefully, guarded viciously, and repaid in blood when broken. It’s what keeps empires standing and men breathing. It’s why the city sleeps at night under the illusion of order, unaware of the violence humming beneath its veins.

I built this empire on it.

Brick by brick. Body by body.

“Shipment cleared.”

The voice cuts through the low murmur of the room. My head lifts slowly, eyes sweeping over the men gathered around the table. Smoke curls toward the ceiling, thick with the smell of gun oil, whiskey, and fear. The city skyline glows beyond the glass wall, cold and distant.

“Any losses?” I ask.

“Two,” Marco answers. “Handled.”

Of course they were.

I nod once. No questions. Losses are inevitable. Sentiment is not. That’s the first rule I learned when I inherited power far too young.

Power doesn’t care if you’re ready.

It takes.

Across the table, my brothers sit in silence.

Lucien leans back in his chair, white suit immaculate, fingers drumming idly against his knee. His expression is bored, detached but I know better. Lucien notices everything. He just pretends not to care.

Sebastian stands by the window, arms crossed, jaw tight. He’s always been the quiet one. The thinker. The one who feels things too deeply and hides it beneath discipline and control.

Three men.

Three kings.

And one absence that never leaves us.

“Meeting’s over,” I say finally.

The men rise instantly, chairs scraping back as they file out. No one lingers. No one dares. When the door shuts, silence crashes down hard enough to bruise.

Lucien exhales. “Another night, another mess.”

Sebastian doesn’t move. His gaze stays fixed on the city. “Something’s wrong.”

Lucien arches a brow. “There’s always something wrong.”

“No,” Sebastian says quietly. “This is different.”

I don’t respond, but my chest tightens.

Because I feel it too.

It started three days ago—an unease I couldn’t name. Not paranoia. Not instinct sharpened by survival. Something older. Deeper. Like a bruise beneath the ribs you don’t remember earning.

I turn toward the bar, pouring myself a drink I don’t want. “Talk.”

Sebastian finally faces us. “I ran the background checks again.”

Lucien scoffs. “On who? Everyone in this city already belongs to us.”

Sebastian’s eyes flick to me. “On the past.”

The word lands heavy.

Lucien straightens slightly. “You mean ”

“Yes.”

Silence stretches.

The past is not something we revisit. It’s buried. Sealed. Burned. We built our power by erasing weaknesses and there was nothing weaker than the girl we failed to protect.

“Why now?” I ask.

Sebastian’s voice drops. “Because a name came up.”

My grip tightens around the glass.

“What name?”

He hesitates.

That’s when I know.

“Say it,” I order.

Sebastian swallows. “The orphanage.”

Lucien’s fingers still.

The glass in my hand cracks.

The orphanage.

A place that should not exist. A place we paid to monitor. A place that was supposed to be safe.

A place where our sister vanished.

“Run that by me again,” Lucien says softly, all humor gone.

“There’s movement,” Sebastian continues. “Missing files. A disturbance reported two nights ago. One of the staff filed a complaint said someone escaped.”

The word hits like a gunshot.

Escaped.

I set the glass down slowly. “Age?”

Sebastian’s jaw tightens. “Female. Early twenties. Records incomplete.”

Lucien laughs sharp, brittle. “You’re not suggesting”

“I’m suggesting,” Sebastian interrupts, “that we were lied to.”

The room tilts.

Memory slams into me without mercy.

A hospital hallway. White walls. My mother’s blood on my hands as she whispered through tears I pretended not to see. A photograph pressed into my palm. A promise I swore I’d keep.

Protect her.

Find her.

I failed.

“She was declared dead,” Lucien says, more to himself than anyone else. “I watched them close the case.”

“You watched paperwork,” Sebastian snaps. “Not a body.”

My pulse roars in my ears.

“How long?” I ask.

Sebastian meets my eyes. “Long enough for her to learn how to survive without us.”

Something inside me fractures.

I turn away, pressing my hands against the glass, staring down at the city that bows to my name. I’ve ordered executions without blinking. I’ve dismantled organizations. I’ve watched men beg and felt nothing.

But this 

This is different.

“She would’ve been alone,” I say quietly.

Lucien’s voice drops. “Or worse.”

I close my eyes.

I see a child with wide eyes and shaking hands. A child we left behind when we ran toward power instead of back toward home.

“Find her,” I say.

Sebastian doesn’t hesitate. “Already started.”

Lucien steps forward, expression dark, lethal. “If someone touched her ”

“They die,” I finish.

Not an exaggeration. Not a threat.

A promise.

Outside, thunder rolls low and distant, shaking the windows. The city doesn’t know what’s coming. It doesn’t know the rules are about to change.

Because if she’s alive 

If our sister survived what we couldn’t prevent 

Then the world that broke her is about to learn what it means to bleed for it.

And this time 

We will not fail her.

Sebastian pulls a tablet from his jacket and sets it on the table between us. The screen lights up with grainy security stills night-vision footage, timestamps blinking red.

“This is all we have so far,” he says. “She was careful. Smarter than they expected.”

Lucien leans in, eyes narrowing. “She moves like someone who’s been punished for mistakes.”

I hate that he’s right.

“She avoided cameras,” Sebastian continues. “Took routes that don’t make sense unless you’re watching patterns. Guard rotations. Blind spots.”

A pause.

“She planned this for a long time.”

My jaw tightens.

That means nights spent dreaming of escape instead of sleep. That means hope sharpened into something dangerous. That means suffering measured in patience.

“She shouldn’t have had to learn that,” I say.

Lucien straightens, rolling his shoulders back. “But she did. Which means she’s not weak.”

“No,” Sebastian agrees quietly. “She’s feral.”

The word settles heavy in my chest.

Feral things don’t trust easily. They bite first. They run when offered shelter. They survive at all costs.

“She won’t come to us,” Lucien says. “Not willingly.”

“I know,” I reply. “Which is why we don’t cage her.”

Lucien’s gaze snaps to mine. “You’re going soft.”

I step closer, close enough that he has to tilt his head up to meet my eyes. “I’m going honest.”

Silence stretches.

“We find her,” I continue. “We protect her. And when she’s ready she chooses.”

Sebastian exhales slowly, like he’s been holding his breath for years. “I’ll deploy the outer network. No uniforms. No insignias. She won’t even know we’re there.”

“Good,” I say. “If she’s alive this long, she doesn’t need another master.”

Lucien scoffs softly. “The city won’t like this.”

“The city will adjust,” I answer coldly.

I turn back to the window. Somewhere out there, a girl with our blood is running through streets that don’t know her name. Sleeping with one eye open. Trusting no one.

She doesn’t know three empires just shifted course for her.

She doesn’t know the men who rule this city haven’t slept since her shadow crossed a screen.

She doesn’t know we’ll burn everything before we let her disappear again.

I place my palm against the glass.

“Little sister,” I murmur, so softly even my brothers barely hear it. “You survived the part that was meant to kill you.”

Thunder cracks overhead, closer now.

“And the world that failed you,” I add, voice hardening, “is about to meet us.”