Twenty-five Twenty-one Novels & Stories

Step by step, the noise grew louder, and soon after, I was able to make out what they were actually saying. "One million. By the end of this week. If you do not bring the money, I will kill both your daughter and your stupid little recruit," a familiar voice said. So Zeke's alive, just not in the same room I'm in. There was a long pause. "Hendrix, I am not fucking playing with you. If you do not bring the money, I will burn your daughter alive and give you her corpse. Don't fucking underestimate me," he said before banging something on what sounded like a table. I flinched, still hesitant about showing myself.

22years into the fifty years, 8 years to the fiftieth year. I was running, hard. My feet crunched heavily into the snow as I maneuvered my way around the trees, clothed now in snow. I made a pause to catch my breath, Abigail had gotten it into her fair head to chase me around the forest and had instigated the snow ball fight. I let out a breathy laugh, puff of vapour billowing around my face, I couldn't say I didn't enjoy the freedom, I just needed to catch my breath.

From the age of ten, every dollar my parents spent on me became a debt. Tuition. Clothes. Food. Even medical bills. By eighteen, I had signed one hundred and ninety-nine promissory notes. But Camilla—the daughter of the man who died protecting my parents—received everything for free. They gave her my bedroom, my inheritance bracelet, a Manhattan apartment, a Maserati, and eventually even the attention of my fiancé, Nick. My parents called it repaying her father’s sacrifice. They called my suffering “heir training.” On the eighteenth birthday Camilla and I shared, I was seriously injured in a car accident. While my family celebrated her aboard a Caribbean yacht, I begged them for three thousa

"I'm sorry. I accidentally cut my hand today. Kevin..." I ignored her and looked straight at him. "My mom is sick. You're the only one who can save her. Come with me. Now." He hesitated. That single second told me everything. "Fiona just had an accident. She's emotionally unstable. I can't leave. Your mom should be fine. Tomorrow—" "Tomorrow?" My voice trembled. "My mom can't wait until tomorrow." "But Fiona can't be left alone either—"

My tone and voice were sharp, reflecting all the feelings I had bottled up. He fell silent. His face tensed, as if he wasn’t ready to face my firmness. "I—I don’t know where to start. In these five years... I've realized something." I held back a bitter laugh. "In these five years, I’ve realized many things, one of which is that life without you has turned out to be easier than I thought." My words bit, and I knew they were painful for him. He bit his lip, as if holding back something.

"When she's gone, I'll come back. We'll have the bonding ceremony, just like we planned. We're true mates. Our wolves get on so well. They're inseparable." I sat there woodenly, feeling my eyes sting. It had been five years. I laughed sardonically. "You've only just developed this potion. You haven't even tested it yet. What if something goes wrong? What if I forget you forever, and not just for 21 days? What if it hurts my wolf?" Dylan's finger froze, but he only remained silent for a moment before pulling out the stopper of the tube firmly. There was a soft sound, and the potion glowed a faint blue.

Expected that I would be at the party. “Eighteen,” Enzo answered. “Nineteen.” “Twenty.” The room gasped. My assistant stood off to the side, composed, but I saw the tightness in her posture. This wasn’t just art anymore. “Twenty-one,” Miguel said flatly. Enzo raised his hand. “Twenty-five.” My assistant struggled to keep her voice even. “Twenty-five million. Do I hear twenty-six?” Miguel said nothing. He turned to me. “Let him win it,” I said softly.

“Twenty-four.” “Same birthday?” “Obviously.” “Right.” Nicholas laughed quietly. I elbowed him. “So neither of us is twenty-five.” “No,” Edward said. “Then neither currently controls it.” “Correct.” “And if both of us reach twenty-five free?” Edward didn’t answer. Lydia looked at him. “That’s what you’ve been hiding.” I turned. “What happens?” Edward’s face tightened. “The authority divides.” Silence. “Fifty-fifty?” “Yes.” Lydia started laughing.

She answered in a whisper, not wanting Ian to notice the effect of her words. They danced to more songs and continued drinking. He is whiskey, and she, margaritas. The night passed quickly. Between drinks, and glances that said more than what their mouths expressed. “Oh, my goodness!” she exclaimed, looking at his cell phone. “It's late, I have to go”. Ian looked at his wristwatch, it was indeed twenty past two in the morning, but he didn't want it to end either. “Did you bring a car?” he asked curiously.

Third, the spacing—the most crucial part—acted as a modifier. ​She began to work. Her hands were shaking slightly, but the muscle memory was there. ​Red car + Lock = Program. Palm tree + Space (3) = Inquiry/Asking. Umbrella + Numbers = Trust/Warning. ​It took her twelve minutes of agonizing focus. When she finally had the nineteen words, she sat back on the bed, the notebook heavy in her lap. ​Someone in the program has been asking about you. Not Richard's people. Someone else. Be careful who you trust.