Page 60 of When Kings Rise

“Not from what I've discovered,” Rian responds, his eyes alight with the thrill of sharing his findings.

I find myself drawn into the conversation despite my reservations. “No, wouldn't there be one guy? A Hand to guide the Kings?” I ask, trying to fit Rian's revelations into the framework of what I know.

“The Hand does the bidding of the council. Only he knows their identities,” Rian clarifies, his statement echoing through the room like a prophecy. The implication of his words, the existence of someone more powerful than Victor, hangs in the air.

A thump from the hallway outside, a sudden noise that cuts through our discussion, has us all spinning toward the noise.We all freeze, our gazes snapping toward the door as if it were the only thing anchoring us to reality. Selene's whisper slices through the silence, a sharp edge of fear in her voice. “Rian, do you have a weapon?”

Rian's response is almost comical in its naivety. “Why would I have a weapon?” He looks genuinely puzzled, as if the concept of needing physical protection in his own home is a foreign one.

Rian moves toward the door, his determination masking the uncertainty that flickers in his eyes. Selene and I can only watch as he reaches for the handle, the simple act charged with the potential to change everything.

The door swings open to reveal an older man. He introduces himself as someone who works for Diarmuid, claiming concern for Selene and me. His words are smooth, with a practiced ease that belies the tension of our unexpected encounter. Rian's confusion is evident, the name Diarmuid holding no significance for him, a stark reminder of the worlds colliding at his doorstep.

The older man's smile is enigmatic. “The ladies shouldn’t be here; they do not have permission.” I can sense a veiled threat wrapped in politeness. I watch Rian, trying to gauge his reaction, to see if he senses the danger that's seeped into his home with this stranger's arrival. Rian's body language, open and unconcerned, betrays his inexperience and his inability to see beneath the surface of our visitor's calm demeanor.

Despite the man's unassuming appearance, something about him sets my instincts on edge. His hair, more gray than black, speaks of years and experiences far beyond what any of us can claim. And there, hidden beneath the benign exterior, is the subtle suggestion of a body honed by training.

“Who is Diarmuid?” Rian asks.

I exchange a glance with Selene, a silent communication that speaks volumes.

When Rian glances back at me, I can’t find any words. He turns back to the old man. “I think it’s best you leave.” I don’t know what Rian sees on mine and Selene’s faces—fear, maybe. Dread. But he pushes the door closed.

A foot wedged in the door stops Rian from closing it. The older man pushes it open with ease and strength. When he reaches for Rian, I rush toward him, but it’s a blur of movement. One minute Rian is standing there, the next the old man’s arms are around his neck. Rian's death is swift, a chilling demonstration of the older man's lethal skill. The crack of his neck sends my stomach swirling. My heart beats rapidly in my ears. Blood rushes through my body at what just happened in front of us.

He killed Rian.

With a swift movement, he’s in the apartment with the door closed behind him and Rian hanging lifeless from his arm. He removes a gun, and Selene screams at the same time as I jump back.

“Be quiet,” he warns.

Tears run down my face, and with a shaky hand, I reach up and touch my face. I wasn’t even aware that I had started crying.

“Now, get rid of all of this,” he orders, his weapon sweeping the room, encompassing the entirety of Rian's life's work in one dismissive gesture.

Selene has her hands raised and nods, backing toward the wall with all its maps and connections.

I swallow bile. I can't look away from Rian’s lifeless body.

“Move,” I’m ordered, and I find myself with trembling hands reaching out to remove Rian’s work. I can’t see from the blur of tears.

As we tear it all down, he orders us to place it all in the sink. The man lowers Rian to the ground but still holds the gun toward me and Selene. The flames consume every piece of paper, every note and article, as he lights it all on fire.

Death reduces Rian's body, that was once vibrant with life and curiosity, to an object to be concealed, rolled in a rug as if he were nothing more than refuse.

Guided by the barrel of the man's gun, we move in a daze.

He swings the rug across his shoulder and opens the apartment door. “Outside.” He orders.

A strangled cry falls from my lips. A hand takes mine, and I jump for a second until I look into Selene’s tear-filled eyes.

The streets are silent witnesses to our grim procession. The alley was a makeshift route to an ending none of us could have predicted. The trunk of the man's car becomes Rian's final resting place, a thought that churns my stomach with a mix of rage and despair.

The man levels his gun once more.“Get in the car.” His words are a sentence, mostly a death sentence.

Selene tightens her hand on mine.

“No,” she says, keeping me rooted at her side.

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