Semua Bab I Buried you in 1612- The Surveyors Curse : Bab 1 - Bab 10

The London rain didn’t feel like a cleansing spray; it felt like a cold, wet shroud . Cat Watson pulled the collar of her oversized denim jacket tighter around her neck, her thumb tracing the jacket edge of a hole in the pocket. It was 3:30 PM. The caffeine rush from the latte she just splurged on was already losing the war against the bone-deep exhaustion of working three double shifts in a row. The bell of the coffee shop chimed behind her , but she didn’t look back . She couldn’t . Ever since she’d walk into that shop, she felt a prick at the base of her skull. A heavy, magnetic pressure, like someone was pressing a hot thumb against her spine. For a fleeting second, her eyes had snagged on a man by the counter - a man who looks like he stepped out of a high fashion funeral. He was beautiful in a way that made her stomach turnover, but his eyes…. They had looked at her as if he were watching her drown and wasn’t sure if he should reach for a rope or a stone. Probably just an

Cat didn’t use the car.She couldn’t. Every instinct in her body screamed that Elias Thorne was a predator of a different species than Marcus. Marcus was a shark you could see coming by the fin in the water; Elias was the deep, cold trench that simply swallowed you whole.She spent the night pushed against her front door, a kitchen chair wedged under the handle, clutching a bread knife until her knuckles turned white. But when the sun crawled over the jagged London skyline, nothing had moved. No monsters had come through the window.By 8:00 AM, she had to move. Poverty was a more immediate threat than a mysterious billionaire. She had a shift at the dive bar near the docks, a place that smelled of stale beer and regret, and she couldn't afford to lose the tips.But when she stepped out of her building, the world had... shifted.The trash that usually choked the gutter was gone. The graffiti on the entryway—crude words Marcus had spray-painted weeks ago—had been scrubbed so clean the s

The SUV crunched to a halt on the gravel drive of Thorne Manor. The estate was a sprawling gothic monolith of black stone and narrow, watchful windows, tucked away behind a forest that felt far older than the surrounding London suburbs.Elias didn't wait for the driver. He opened the door, his hand instantly finding the small of Cat’s back, guiding her with a possessive firmness that made her skin hum. Inside, the manor was a tomb of silent luxury—vaulted ceilings, marble floors that reflected the flicker of candlelight, and walls lined with maps that looked like they were drawn in dried blood."Upstairs," Elias murmured. "I have spent years preparing this for you."He led her to a heavy oak door at the end of the north wing. When he pushed it open, the modern world died.Cat stepped inside and stopped. The breath left her lungs in a sharp, painful hiss. There was no electric light here. Instead, beeswax candles flickered in wrought-iron sconces. The bed was a massive four-poster with

The manor fell into a heavy, ringing silence. The dust of pulverized marble hung in the air like a veil. Down in the foyer, the bodies of the Syndicate soldiers were twisted heaps of tactical gear and broken bone, but Cat couldn’t look at them. Her vision was swimming, the golden grid of the ley lines still burned into her retinas, refusing to fade.She felt hollow. It wasn’t just exhaustion; it was an ache in her very cells, a void where the earth’s energy had just roared through her. It felt like hunger, but food wouldn't touch it.Elias was at the foot of the ruined stairs, his chest heaving. The silver-wire burns were deep, black welts that hissed against his pale skin, refusing to knit shut. Silver was the one thing his immortality couldn't easily dismiss; it was a poison that stalled the very air in his lungs."Catherine," he rasped, his voice cracking."I... I did that," she whispered, staring at her hands. Her fingernails were blackened at the tips, as if she’d reached into a

The London fog embraced Cat like a living thing, cool and damp against her new, hypersensitive skin. She ran through the ancient forest that surrounded Thorne Manor, her feet barely disturbing the leaf litter, her body a blur of motion unseen by mortal eyes. Elias’s blood thrummed in her veins, mingling with the raw power of the ley lines she had siphoned, transforming her with every pounding beat of her new, almost-silent heart.Her human heart. It had stopped. In its place, a magnetic hum resonated in her chest, pulling her toward the deep, arterial currents of the city. Her vision, now permanently fixed in the "Surveyor’s Sight," saw London not as concrete and steel, but as a vast, glowing grid of power lines, energy conduits, and pulsing life forces.And within that grid, she saw the Syndicate. Black voids, like clots in the city's veins, gathered in dark pockets.She needed answers. The journal entry Vane had sent—real or forged—had planted a poisonous seed of doubt. He watches m