The rooftop was still. Only the night wind moved, tugging at Clarissa's dress, scattering strands of her hair across her damp cheeks. She clutched herself as though her body might splinter apart under the weight of everything she had seen. Her sobs came ragged, broken, clawing at the silence.
"You knew, mother!" Her voice cracked into the air, jagged and raw. She looked at her mother with wide, red-rimmed eyes that carried nothing but betrayal. "You knew what he was. You knew--and you let him near me."
Her mother stood firm, though her hands trembled against her gown. For once her poise slipped, not enough to crumble but enough for the cracks to show. "Clarissa, you exaggerate. You think Ryan's little performance tonight erases what he has always been? He soiled everything. He humiliated you, humiliated us all. And still--still you cry for him?"
Clarissa flinched as though struck. "He saved me!" she shouted, her voice breaking. "If he hadn't--if he hadn't--" The words died, choked by tears.
Ryan, standing a few paces away, his shadow long against the tower stones, looked from mother to daughter with cold, steady eyes. His breath was still hard from the chase, his mark still throbbing faintly under his sleeve. He had no pity left for the woman who bartered souls for vanity. None left for the woman who trampled on his heart.
"I soiled nothing," he said, his voice like tempered steel. "It was your greed. You wanted life stretched beyond its natural span, and so you opened your doors to a demon, at any cost. You brought Matthias into this house. You--invited--him."
The mother's face hardened, her chin lifting. "I did what I had to do. For my family. For my daughter."
"No." Ryan's eyes cut into her. "You did it for yourself. And you would have let Clarissa pay the price."
Clarissa's breath caught, and she turned to Ryan with horror dawning in her eyes. Her sobs deepened, clawing up from her chest until her voice was nothing but a broken child's cry. "What! No, no, she wouldn't,"
But her mother did not answer. She closed her lips tight, refusing to yield, and in that silence Ryan saw the flicker of secrets buried, the shadows she still held close. Already he knew enough. The Whintrops were in the Book of Contracts, their name etched in dark ink older than memory. They had made deals before, and if her stubborn silence told him anything, there were more truths waiting beneath.
He turned from them. This rooftop had nothing more for him.
Behind him, Clarissa's voice rose, sharp and cracking in the night. "Ryan!" It wasn't his name she screamed so much as her pain, her frustration, her desperation clawing for something already lost. "Ryan!"
But he did not turn back. His steps were steady, and the night swallowed his figure as he disappeared down into the halls of Grotech.
---
Back at the mansion, exhaustion seeped into Ryan's bones like lead. His muscles ached from the fight, the mark still throbbed, and the weight of the Book of Contracts pulled at his mind as though it whispered even now from where it rested in his study.
A woman waited for him in the hall. She was slender, soft-featured, and her blue eyes were wide with reverence. She bowed her head deeply when she saw him.
"Master Ryan," she said softly. "Let me attend you."
Her name was Greta, and she moved with the devotion of someone who carried not duty but worship. She guided him into his chambers, drawing the bath herself, steam rising in thick, soothing wisps. When at last he sank into the water, heat seeping into his battered limbs, Greta knelt beside him with a quiet grace. She sponged his back gently, as though afraid to mar his skin.
The Gentleman's voice drifted into the chamber, low and steady as always. "You wonder why she looks at you so," he said.
Ryan opened his eyes halfway. "No."
"Because she owes her life to your bloodline." The Gentleman stepped from the shadows near the window, his form cut in half by silver moonlight. "Your father saved her parents when demons hunted them. Greta was just a babe. From that moment, her family swore themselves to you. And now she continues that oath. There are others like her, faithful households bound by gratitude, waiting in silence until you call. You are not alone."
Ryan breathed deeply, the water lapping softly around him. Not alone. It sounded hollow.
The Gentleman's voice deepened, iron laced into each word. "Tonight, you took your first step as Reaper. You engaged in your first true hunt, and you prevailed."
"Barely." Ryan's lips twisted bitterly. "If I hadn't been lucky--"
The Gentleman raised a hand. "No. It was not luck. A spark of your inheritance stirred. Your mark guided you, your reflexes sharpened, you shot true. Do not call that luck. Call it awakening."
Ryan stared into the rippling bathwater, seeing his own reflection blur. Awakening. The word felt heavy.
"But be warned," the Gentleman continued. "Matthias will not forget the wound you inflicted. He will strike harder now. And the others will hear. Already the word will spread across the shadowed circles--there is a new reaper in the city. You and the Book of Contracts will become the quarry. Every hungry demon will want your head now more than ever."
Ryan closed his fist under the water, his jaw tightening.
"You must transcend training. You must become strong enough not merely to fight, but to dominate. Or you will die before your power is fully born."
The bath seemed colder suddenly, despite the steam.
"You were fortunate tonight," the Gentleman said. "Fortunate that Matthias underestimated you, fortunate that your bullet found its mark. Another time, fortune may not choose your side."
Ryan's eyes lifted slowly to meet his mentor's. "Then I won't rely on fortune again."
A thin smile tugged at the Gentleman's lips. "Good. That is the answer I wanted to hear."
Ryan leaned back against the edge of the tub, the water carrying away the ache of his body, but not the weight on his shoulders. He thought of the book again, its pages shifting, glowing under his blood, whispering. He thought of the names already revealed--the Whintrops among them. He thought of what secrets might come next.
"The Whintrops," Ryan said quietly. "Their name is in the book. That family has been making deals for a long time."
The Gentleman's eyes gleamed, dark as obsidian. "And they are only the beginning. More names will emerge. More secrets. Bloodlines and dynasties, powerful beyond what mortals believe, all with ties to the dark."
Ryan exhaled slowly, letting the steam wash his face.
"For now," the Gentleman said at last, his tone softening, 'rest. Enjoy your bath. Strength will come, knowledge will come. And so will war. But tonight, you live. And you have begun."
The room fell silent again save for the water's gentle ripple, Greta's hands moving with steady devotion, and Ryan's thoughts circling endlessly around the fire that had been lit inside him, a fire that could not be put out.