Page 6 of Whispers of Ruin

When I finally pull my fingers out, the sanguine fluid slowly drips from my hand, leaving a contrasted trail of red drops on my white ceramic floor. It’s a tactile, indulgent feeling.

Like my bloodfinallybelongs to me.

Lucian sits across from me, his usual calm arrogance steadfast in place, but I can feel the pressure behind it—the kind of calmness that is not meant to reassure, but to disarm. His office is as it always was—dimly lit, thick with his authority. He rests his elbows on the desk, steepling his fingers in front of his face as he studies me.

“Xan, my boy,” he begins, his voice smooth and deceptively warm. “Didn’t I tell you not to play with your food?”

I take my time, leaning back in my chair, crossing my arms, and stretching my legs.

“You gave me a job, and I’m doing it my way.”

“Are you?”, he tilts his head slightly, his piercing blue eyes narrowing. “Because from what I see, we are still incapable of telling what she knows. You have been watching her for weeks now.” He spreads his hands, his tone almost amused.

I keep my expression neutral.

“You told me to watch, not act. I’m following orders.”

His gaze sharpens, cutting through the space between us.

“For someone who’s meant to stay hands off, you sure take your time toying with her.”

He leans forward, his arms hitting the desk.

“What is it about her, Xan,huh?”

My jaw clenches.

“Nothing. She’s a total nobody.”

Every muscle in my body screams for release. My fingers curl tighter, nails digging into my palms as I fight the urge to snap. I stare at him, forcing myself to keep my expression neutral, but inside, I am a fucking storm.

The worst part? He can probably see it. The Ruler always knows when someone is on the brink. He clearly enjoys every second, thriving on the power he exerts over us all.

Lucian leans back, his eyes twitching into a faint, condescending smile.

“You have always been thorough. That’s why I trust you more than anyone else.”, he pauses. “Still let me remind you, boy—there is a fine line between patience and distraction.”

I hold his gaze, refusing to let him see how deeply his words are cutting. How his voice can instantly ignite that searing anger boiling under my skin, clawing its way up my throat like acid.

I nod once, curtly. “I will keep watching. I will find out what she knows.”

His tone now shifting back to something almost paternal.

“Good, good. That’s what I need from you. Stay close to her. Earn her trust. Exploit her weaknesses. If she has no idea who I am, if the past remains buried, then maybe—maybe—she can still be of use.”

He stands, walking around the desk and resting a firm hand on my shoulder.

“I made a promise to someone dear to me once—to welcome that girl within the great walls of the Order. Although I can’t afford to keep that oath if she becomes a threat. I took you in because I saw potential, Xan. And you have never let me down. Don’t start now, son.”

His grip lingers a second too long before he steps away.

“So, keep her alive—for now. If she starts asking the wrong questions… I hope I won’t have to tell you what to do.”

The heavy oak door of Lucian’s office slams shut behind me, reverberating down the narrow corridor. The hallways of the Obsidian Order’s headquarters are gloomy, intentionally oppressive, their stone walls whispering secrets of those who walked these paths before. Chandeliers hang precariously, their chains creaking faintly with every draft, casting erratic shadows that dance like restless spirits. My boots echo with each step, a steady rhythm that contrasts with the rage in my head.

The exit is right ahead—a towering iron door that groans as I push it open. Outside, the night greets me with a damp chill. The rain has stopped, leaving the cobblestone streets slick andgleaming under the amber glow of distant streetlights, blending with the fog that clings stubbornly to the ground.

I light a cigarette, inhaling deeply as I walk, the atmosphere quieter than it should be for New York, even in Vinegar Hill. The neighborhood has usually its own pulse, a thrum of life beneath the surface. Here—where the Order’s influence stretches—it feels muted, almost lifeless.

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