The front hall looked smaller when it was being looted.
Clean hands. Clean boots. Linen too bright for a dead house.
Julia stood with Vincent on her back, breathing hard but refusing to sway. Her grip was steel. Her eyes were sharper than any blade she carried—because she carried none.
A man in polished armor stepped forward as if he owned the dust.
A silver badge gleamed on his chest: an eight-pointed star framed by a laurel wreath.
Vincent's gaze snagged on it.
Not the Hero Association.
Merchant Association.
The man's smile thinned.
"Well," he said lightly, voice warm in a way that made it colder. "So the Aldebaran heir finally woke up."
His eyes swept Vincent like an appraisal.
Then he nodded toward Julia and chuckled.
"Of course you need to be carried. How… appropriate."
Julia's jaw tightened. Vincent felt her shoulders tense beneath his cheek.
The man took another step, careful not to scuff his boots through dust.
"Dolbi Rusker," he said, tapping the badge with two fingers. "Merchant Association enforcement. Not that you need to remember names, Lord Vincent. I hear you forget things easily these days."
Behind him stood three men in clean linen coats. Sacks sat at their feet.
Clink.
Glass, maybe. Or something that used to belong on a pedestal.
Vincent's eyes flicked to the sacks.
Dolbi noticed.
"Oh, don't worry," he said, amused. "We'll be gentle. Your house has already been stripped once. We're just finishing the job."
Julia stepped forward.
One step.
Not to attack.
To block.
"Leave," she said.
Dolbi blinked, as if surprised the furniture spoke.
Then he laughed. "A maid giving orders?"
Julia's voice didn't rise. It didn't soften, either.
"It's not an order," she said. "It's a boundary."
Dolbi's smile turned playful. His gaze lingered on Julia a beat too long, traveling like he was counting her worth.
"You stayed," he said, almost friendly. "A Lucretia girl in a collapsing mansion, starving for pride."
He clicked his tongue.
"Come with me. The Merchant Association pays on time. Food. Warm rooms. A future." His eyes slid to Vincent on her back. "Instead of this."
Julia's fingers tightened on Vincent's legs.
Vincent felt it—the reflex.
The urge to lunge.
To kill.
Gabriel's instincts rose like a blade.
Vincent swallowed them down.
Julia answered first.
"I already have a future," she said.
Dolbi raised a brow.
"It's called duty," Julia continued. "And it doesn't bend for money."
For a heartbeat, Dolbi's expression flickered—annoyance, brief and ugly—then smoothed again.
"What a waste," he sighed. "Such a pretty thing insisting on drowning with a sinking ship."
Vincent let his eyes drift past Dolbi.
Past the sacks.
To the hall itself: the chandelier missing its crystals, the pale rectangles where portraits had been torn down, the furniture propped like it was trying not to collapse.
This house wasn't a fortress.
It was bait.
Vincent exhaled.
"Dolbi Rusker," he said.
Dolbi's eyes returned to him, amused. "The heir speaks. How delightful."
Vincent kept his voice calm.
"Let's talk inside," he said. "Properly."
Dolbi paused.
His gaze slid—briefly—to Vincent's left hand.
To the black-blue scales hugging his skin.
The gauntlet.
Something sharpened behind Dolbi's smile.
Then he hid it.
"As you wish," he said, too polite. "I'm a reasonable man."
Vincent tapped Julia's shoulder—gentle.
"Put me down," he murmured.
Julia's breath hitched. "My Lord—"
"I can sit," Vincent said softly.
It was half lie.
Half strategy.
Julia carried him into the adjacent sitting room—a place that once smelled of perfume and wealth. Now it smelled of dust and old decisions.
She lowered Vincent into a chair as carefully as if he were glass.
His knees shook when his feet met the floor.
He didn't show it.
Julia stood behind him.
A wall.
Dolbi strolled in and sat across without being invited. He crossed one leg over the other.
His men waited near the doorway, sacks in hand.
Dolbi clasped his hands.
"So," he said. "You want to negotiate?"
"I want clarity," Vincent replied.
Dolbi smiled. "Clarity costs."
Vincent didn't react.
With a theatrical sigh, Dolbi reached into his coat and pulled out a folded document—thick paper, red seals, a ribbon thread that screamed official.
He flicked it open and placed it on the table like a verdict.
"Mansion Aldebaran," Dolbi said cheerfully. "Sold."
Julia's posture snapped tighter.
Vincent's gaze moved to the signatures.
Two names.
Two hands.
One belonged to the elder sister.
One belonged to the younger brother.
Dolbi tapped them.
"Your siblings," he said. "Both agreed."
"This is invalid," Julia said. "Lord Vincent is the successor of House Aldebaran."
Dolbi looked at her like she was a stain.
Then he smiled.
"The maid knows inheritance law."
"It's not law," Julia said. "It's fact."
Dolbi leaned back.
"Fact," he repeated, amused. Then his voice sharpened. "Here is a fact you can swallow: House Aldebaran is drowning in debt."
He tapped the badge on his chest.
"The Merchant Association doesn't care who wears the title," he continued. "There's a clause. Simple."
He held up one finger.
"Debt makes the family's assets a collective guarantee."
Vincent's eyes stayed on the ink.
On the seals.
On paper pretending to be destiny.
Dolbi went on, enjoying himself.
"Your sister and brother owe the Association. A lot." He smiled. "This is how they pay."
"They had no right," Julia said, anger held tight.
"They had no choice," Dolbi replied.
He leaned forward.
"And even if you refuse, Lord Vincent, it changes nothing. The interest grows. If we don't take it today, we take it later."
His smile returned, bright and poisonous.
"But," he said, lifting a hand, "because your family was once useful… I'll offer mercy."
Julia's fingers twitched.
Dolbi's voice softened.
"I give you one month."
The words dropped heavy.
"One month before this mansion is demolished."
Julia's breath caught.
Vincent didn't blink.
Dolbi watched his face, waiting for panic.
Vincent gave him none.
Dolbi's smile faltered for a heartbeat, then recovered.
"Oh," he added, as if remembering a courtesy. "Your siblings asked me to give you your share."
He reached into his pocket and produced a single gold coin. It gleamed, too bright for the room.
"Here," he said. "A token."
Julia didn't look at it.
She stared at Dolbi.
Dolbi's smile widened. He let the coin slip.
Clink.
It rolled once and stopped on the dusty floor.
A deliberate sound.
A deliberate humiliation.
Dolbi waited.
Julia didn't move.
Vincent spoke instead.
"I don't need it," he said.
Dolbi blinked.
"Keep your coin."
Julia's breath trembled behind him.
Vincent held Dolbi's gaze.
"And I don't need your month," Vincent added, voice even. "Demolish this place in thirty days if you like. Put it in writing. Frame it. Celebrate it."
Dolbi's eyes narrowed.
Vincent didn't look away.
"But I'll be gone before you get the chance."
Dolbi's mouth tightened. "Gone?"
Vincent nodded once.
"When the carriage and provisions arrive, we leave."
Dolbi stared at him, then gave a short laugh—irritated, not amused.
"A carriage," he repeated, like the request insulted him.
Vincent didn't blink.
Dolbi's laugh died.
Fine lines of annoyance cut into his face.
"Very well," he said at last. "Because I'm kind."
The word tasted like rot.
"A carriage," Dolbi continued. "And provisions."
He pointed with two fingers.
"Tomorrow."
Vincent nodded once.
Dolbi stood, expression tight.
"And take the coin," he added. "I don't care."
Vincent didn't move.
Dolbi's gaze swept the room.
"Any remaining valuables will be collected," he said smoothly. "As per agreement."
Vincent's eyes lifted to the badge.
"Tell your Merchant Association," Vincent said softly, "that an Aldebaran doesn't beg."
For the first time, Dolbi's smile twitched—irritation, like a man realizing prey still had teeth.
His eyes flicked, brief and sharp, to Vincent's left hand.
To the gauntlet.
Then he masked it.
"Tomorrow," Dolbi said, voice tight. "A carriage. Provisions."
His smile returned—thin, controlled.
"Enjoy your night, Lord Vincent," he added softly. "It's your last one here."
He turned and left.
The door shut with a quiet click.
The gold coin still lay on the floor, bright as a bruise.
Julia's voice rose, controlled but strained. "My Lord—why did you agree?"
Vincent stared at the pale scars where portraits had once hung.
"Because this isn't a fortress," he said. "It's bait."
Julia froze.
Vincent lifted his left hand and rested it on Julia's shoulder.
"A house isn't an inheritance," he said. "An inheritance is a name… and a burden you can carry."
He didn't look at the coin.
"When the carriage arrives," Vincent said evenly, "we leave."
Julia whispered, "Where?"
Vincent's left hand flexed. The scales didn't creak. They answered.
"Somewhere the dark can still bite," Vincent said.
The gem pulsed—small, cold, steady.
Like it agreed.