Early March – Markov Estate, South Wing Council Room
A Room That Weighed Too Much
The council room at the southern wing of the estate wasn't designed for comfort.
It was long. Tall. Bare except for thick walnut panelling, an oval table large enough to seat twenty, and stained-glass windows that filtered sunlight into harsh blues and crimsons.
Jay stood alone at one end.
Vincent entered first, followed by three senior staff—silent, sharp-eyed, and unreadable.
And then—Reginald.
His father.
Black coat. Crisp posture. Expression carved from stone.
He didn't sit.
Neither did Jay.
There was silence as thick as the walls.
Then Reginald spoke.
"You're to leave the country in three days."
Jay blinked. "...What?"
Vincent stepped forward, sliding a sealed envelope across the table. Jay didn't touch it.
"There's a summit being held overseas," Reginald said. "Three noble families are negotiating a resource pact. Our involvement has been requested. You will represent our interests."
Jay stared.
"I'm not a diplomat."
"No," Reginald agreed. "But Christin is. You will be accompanying her."
Jay's voice dropped. "You're sending me out of the country with her?"
"To learn. To observe. To act, if needed. And to secure the agreement."
Jay didn't move.
He didn't speak for a long moment.
Then:
"No."
Lines You Don't Cross
The room cooled by degrees.
Reginald didn't flinch. "Explain."
"I didn't ask to be dragged into this world," Jay said quietly. "You pulled me out of school, dropped me into a house I barely recognize, and now you're trying to send me on some... international deal?"
"You carry our name."
"I never asked for it."
Reginald's eyes narrowed. "You were born to it."
Jay's fists curled. "I'm not Elias. I never will be."
"I never wanted another Elias."
Jay faltered.
Reginald stepped forward. "You are different. That's why you were chosen."
"I didn't agree to this."
"You don't have a choice."
Silence.
Then Jay said: "Then lock me in the estate. Train me. Make me one of your polished soldiers. But don't pretend this is my will."
Reginald studied him. Cold. Analytical.
Then he said, "If you complete this mission—successfully—I will permit your return."
Jay froze.
"To school," Reginald continued. "To that life you seem to think is still waiting for you."
Jay's heart kicked.
"And if I fail?"
Reginald stepped closer. "Then you remain here. No further negotiation. No illusions. You will serve the family until the end."
Jay's throat felt dry.
Reginald spoke again—low, sharp.
"This is the last offer you'll receive. You return to St. Ivy not because you ran from duty, but because you earned the right to carry both names: Markov and your own."
Jay didn't move.
Didn't answer.
He left the room without another word.
III. A Storm in the Garden
Jay paced the lower courtyard.
He wanted to scream.
To punch something. To tear the family crest off his jacket and throw it into the fire.
Instead, he walked. Until his boots ached.
Marin found him there an hour later.
She didn't speak at first.
Just stood beside him, arms folded beneath her apron.
"You look like your mother when you get that stare."
Jay sighed. "Then I hope she looked less lost."
Marin shook her head. "She looked furious. Beautifully, gloriously furious."
He chuckled—just a little.
"She believed in you," Marin said. "Still does. Even if she doesn't say it aloud."
Jay looked at her. "What would you do?"
Marin raised an eyebrow. "Me?"
"If you had the chance to leave," Jay said. "But only by playing their game."
She was quiet a long time.
Then: "I'd play it better than they expected. And then I'd flip the board."
Jay smiled.
Decision Made
That night, Jay stood before the estate gates.
The stars were clearer than they'd been all month.
He didn't think of the mission. Or the politics. Or Christin.
He thought of Luna's sketches. Tyler's stupid soccer jokes. Emma's smirk when she tried to pretend, she wasn't watching him. Amaya's smile. Noha's Drama. Sofia's chatter, Miles's Challenge's and finally Yuki's glances.
He wanted to go back.
But not empty.
Not as a boy who ran.
As someone who chose to fight for both sides of who he was.
He turned from the gate.
And walked back inside.
Tomorrow, he would say yes.