Lahat ng Kabanata ng THE RED SAVIOR’S SACRIFICE: Kabanata 11 - Kabanata 16

get your head in the game."Julian’s voice snapped me back to the present. I shifted my weight, feeling the cold steel of my watch against my wrist. John Mark hadn't changed since he was a kid playing in the gutters of the Hale estate. Always that same annoying, stubborn streak of integrity. He was a saint in a city of sinners, a purity that used to draw me in like a moth to a flame. Now? It made me want to scream."Just say it, John," I urged, my voice dropping into that low, dangerous rumble. "Apologize to Carl. Admit the stunt at the Wall was a mistake. We can walk out of this room and pretend it never happened."I knew him. Better than these brothers who shared his blood. John didn't have a deceptive bone in his body. He was too proud to lie, too honest for his own good. The idea of him faking a suicide or a Sacrifice Contract was ridiculous. He probably stumbled near the ledge, got dizzy from the blight, and the rest was a misunderstanding.But truth was a luxury the Syndicate co

"What are you shaking for, Carl?" I stood my ground, my pulse a rhythmic thrum against my collarbone. "If I’m just a 'blank' without a soul, why do you look like you’re staring at a loaded gun?"Carl’s fingers whitened as he gripped the armrests of his wheelchair. The mask of the grieving, injured heir was slipping, revealing the jagged edge of the predator underneath. Behind him, the opulent foyer of the Hale estate felt like a mausoleum, smelling of expensive floor wax and old blood."You’re delusional, John," Carl hissed, his voice dropping to a jagged whisper so the guards wouldn't hear. "The Abyss doesn't take trash. It takes power. You’re just a mistake the Don hasn't erased yet."I stepped into his personal space, the scent of his cologne—something cloying and expensive—clogging my throat. "You’re wearing my life like a stolen suit, Carl. But everyone can see the seams are ripping."He surged forward, grabbing my shirt collar with a strength that didn't belong to an 'injured' m

"What are you doing here, kid?"Officer Daniel Miller didn't look up from the stacks of ledger paper as I walked into the precinct's back office. The room smelled of stale coffee and gunpowder. On the desk sat a pile of tributes—thick envelopes of cash, expensive watches, and gold rings—sent by families across the Syndicate for the "Red Savior." The person who was going to walk into the Abyss so their kids didn't have to."Just taking a look at the price of a soul," I said, my voice sounding like gravel.Miller stopped writing. He leaned back, his chair creaking. "People are grateful, John. They don’t know your name, but they know someone is standing in the gap. They sent this specifically for the Tithe."He slid a heavy, cream-colored envelope across the desk. It was open. Inside was a letter from a widow whose husband had been taken by Morcant’s shadow-wraiths. She thanked me for giving her sons a future.I took a pen from his desk, my fingers shaking. I pulled a piece of paper towa