Dimitri never moved alone. Where shadows lingered, Louis was never far behind. Tall, sharp-featured, with the kind of elegance that betrayed his French blood, Louis carried himself like a man who had nothing to prove and everything under control. The others called him ‘the Frenchman’, half in jest, but none of them missed the steel beneath his quiet exterior. He wasn’t loud, not the type to bark orders or boast. Louis spoke only when necessary, and when he did, Dimitri listened. Fluent in three tongues, equally skilled in reading a room as he was in dismantling a threat, he had become Dimitri’s shadow, the one who smoothed the edges, handled the details, and made sure nothing slipped past unnoticed. Some men earned trust by blood, others by fear. Louis earned his through something rarer, an unwavering loyalty that had never once faltered. Dimitri valued him for it, keeping him close, close enough to guard his flank but far enough that his presence was almost ghostlike, a silent
Last Updated : 2025-09-05
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