Re Zero Reinhard Novels & Stories

“Email her.” A pause. “Okay… okay, sir.” The call ended. Reinhardt leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking as he exhaled. His gaze still fixed on the folder like it was something alive,something that had already reached inside him. “Who in the world is this Lisa?” he murmured. Then, he said quieter still: “She shouldn’t affect me this way… her scent,it makes this curse flare.”

"Show them who owns the architecture, Elowen. Or I will collect the debt before they even log off." He didn't step back immediately, the solid radiating warmth of his proximity lingering like static in the air before the speaker on the console finally chimed, a sharp, digital tone. The video wall materialized into three high-definition feeds. In the center screen sat Klaus Reinhardt, a senior German director with sharp, angular features and wire-rimmed glasses that caught the glare of his Frankfurt office. To his left was Hélène Laurent, the representative for the Rotterdam logistics hub, her expression completely unreadable.

Concern washes over me as I see the two men walking towards us. “Robert,” Zander nods at dad as he slips next to me, wraps his arms around me and pulls me close, breathing in my scent to help him relax. “Zander, did you get what you wanted from Jones?” dad asks, looking between the two. Zander's scowling face tells me everything. I can feel his anger as he tries to control himself. “Jones didn’t say much, but the things he did say were interesting,” Ollie mumbled.

Even after the meeting ended, he sat frozen in his seat. When the room cleared, he stood and walked toward me one slow step at a time. His jaw was covered in stubble, and his eyes were streaked with red. Compared to the polished version of me standing in front of him, the man he used to be was long gone. In less than a month, our positions had completely reversed. He opened his mouth to speak, but I beat him to it. "You want to know why I hold 60% of Wynn Group, don't you?"

But even at a distance, the shape of his mouth, the half-healed scar along his jawline—it was unmistakable. “Do you know him?” Elara whispered, following his gaze. “I did,” Adrian said, voice low and brittle. “Before everything changed.” The man turned as if sensing Adrian’s stare, and for the briefest moment, their eyes locked. The man’s expression flickered—recognition, then surprise, then something colder. He disappeared into the crowd without a backward glance. “We have to follow him,” Adrian said, already moving. “Who is he?” “His name is Riven Hart,” Adrian replied tightly. “He worked at the research institute. He was one of the lead virologists studying the illness… and the one who sa

defending author, Zera

Even the quiet hum of the old ceiling fan overhead seemed to fade out. “Alright,” he said, voice smooth, almost too casual. “Time to stop messing around.” I tensed. “My name is Rein,” he continued, eyes flicking between me and Christian with deliberate slowness. “I’m a 'nkt your typical werewolf, as you'd like to tag me," he said this glancing at me. " Seven hundred years old. Been living in Nevada for the past two decades, keeping a low profile.”

He looked ordinary, exhausted, and utterly terrified. Jay's breath hitched. He knew the face. It was from a file he'd studied a lifetime ago, in another life. Dr. Reinhardt Klein. A former East German biochemist turned freelance pharmaceutical wizard. His specialty had been neuro-active compounds. Suppressants. Enhancers. His name had been in the footnotes of Jay's own medical records from the agency, the man who had formulated the first generation of the drugs used to "stabilize" him.