The night was cool, but Ryan felt the heaviness of it. A thickness squeezed his lungs with every step he took down the long, empty road. The lamps along the street stretched shadows across the pavement, and he was grateful for the quiet. After the clash with Greaves's children, the old man's plea, and the way Thelma's eyes had lingered on him before she let him go, his mind needed silence.
But silence rarely lasted for men like him.
Ryan sensed a disturbance in the air before he heard it. There was a ripple that did not belong. His steps slowed, his instincts sharpening. The reaper's blood in him stirred uneasily.
A laugh echoed from the shadows.
Ryan's eyes narrowed into slits. Shit. A wry humour laced his thought. I should have accepted that damn ride.
The darkness that clung to him after drawing the corruption out of Greaves still weighed on his muscles. His body felt slower. His strength, though formidable, was not at its peak. Worse--he wasn't carrying any weapon.
A shape peeled itself out of the gloom. The demon's eyes burned with a violet gleam, its form half-shadow, half-flesh. The stench of brimstone hit Ryan like a slap.
"Reaper," it hissed, voice like gravel dragged across steel. "You reek of interference."
Ryan didn't answer. He moved. The first strike came fast, a dash of claws slashing through the air where he had been. He ducked, pivoted, drove his fist into the creature's side. The impact thudded but the demon only grinned, twisting with an inhuman grace to hurl him back against a lamppost. The iron bent from the force. Pain rippled through his spine, but Ryan pushed himself up, his jaw clenched.
Another came from the opposite side. Two of them. Tall, distorted things that shimmered between human mockery and a monstrous outline.
"Of course," Ryan muttered under his breath. "They never travel alone."
He fought hard. Every strike he landed was measured, brutal. But he felt the corruption dragging on him, slowing his reflexes by half a breath. That half was all the demons needed. A claw ripped across his arm, blood hot against the cold night.
Ryan staggered but refused to yield. He drew on the reaper's instinct buried deep in his bloodline, twisting with a brutal counterstrike that snapped one demon's jaw sideways. It screeched, but the other barrelled into him, slamming him against the hood of a parked car.
The world faded--then exploded in metal and shrieking tyres.
A car came out of nowhere, crashing into the demons with a sickening crunch. Both creatures were hurled several feet, their forms dissipating into smoke before they even touched the ground.
The vehicle screeched to a halt. The driver's door slammed open.
"Sir!" Morgan's voice cut through the chaos.
Ryan blinked through the haze, recognising the stocky man as he rushed to him. Morgan's eyes widened at the sight of blood, but his grip was firm, hauling Ryan into the car with surprising strength.
"Hold on," Morgan muttered, flooring the accelerator. The car shot forward, leaving the road, the demons, and the night behind.
---
The mansion's gates yawned open as they roared in. Greta was already there, lantern light spilling across her anxious face. She rushed forward as the car braked hard, skirts sweeping the ground as she reached Ryan's side.
"Oh God--" Her voice broke as she helped Morgan lift him out. "Boss, you're bleeding--"
Ryan brushed her concern aside, though his voice was strained. "It's nothing. Just… a scratch."
"Scratch?" Greta's eyes widened as she took in the torn sleeve, the blood smeared down his arm. "If this is a scratch, I dread to see what you'd call a wound." She supported his weight, half-dragging him inside despite his protests.
Within minutes, she had him in his chamber, candles burning, herbs pressed into the gashes. Greta's hands trembled, though she tried to hide it. Morgan hovered at the door, jaw tight, until Ryan dismissed him.
"Both of you worry too much," Ryan said hoarsely, eyes closing as exhaustion pressed down. "I'll be fine."
"But you are hurting, boss," Greta whispered, more to herself than to him.
Sleep claimed him before he could reply.
---
When Ryan awoke, sunlight streamed through the high windows. His body hummed with restored strength. The corruption had burned away during the night, leaving only the faint ache of healing wounds.
He sat up slowly. His thoughts, however, had not rested.
He dressed, made his way to his study, and pulled the Book of Contracts from where it lay waiting. Its weight was more than physical, dragging at his hands, his breath. As he set it down, the room itself seemed to lean toward it.
He opened it. Pages shivered though no wind stirred. And names swam before his eyes etched in blood and shadow, each one a tether. Deals struck in darkness.
Greaves's name was not there. The old man had spoken true. But the absence raised more questions than it answered.
"Boss."
Ryan lifted his head. Greta slipped into the study, balancing a small tray with a steaming cup. Her eyes flicked to the book and a disapproval settled on her face.
"You should be resting," she chided gently. "Not pouring over that… thing."
Ryan allowed a small smile. "You sound like an old mother."
"Someone has to." Greta set the tray down, folding her arms. "You nearly bled out last night, honestly, Boss."
Her concern softened him more than he cared to admit. He leaned back, sighing.
"I appreciate it, Greta. Truly. But my mind won't rest. Not until I know."
"Know what, boss?"
Ryan's gaze dropped to the book. "How my parents really died with this demon business?"
Greta was silent for a long moment. Thoughtful. She had served his family long enough to know what her words might cost but her loyalty was stronger than fear.
"I grew up here, as you know. Among old servants who'd been here since your father's time. I was just a girl then, but I listened. And they whispered secrets."
Ryan's gaze sharpened. "They whispered what?"
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. "That night… the night your parents died… it wasn't just demons that orchestrated the attack. Someone opened the way for them. A human ally of darkness."
The words dropped like stones in the room.
Greta's eyes lifted to his, wide and fearful. "They said it was a man. Someone close to your father. Someone trusted. The demons didn't break in--they were let in."
Ryan's jaw clenched. His eyes burned with a fire long held back.
Greta shook her head quickly, as though regretting she'd said it at all. "It's just a rumour. Maybe it was just frightened servants making sense of tragedy. But…" Her voice fell to a whisper. "I don't think they lied."
Ryan closed the book with a snap. His reflection glinted faintly on the cover's dark surface, eyes hard.
"Rumour or not," he said quietly, "it means someone still breathing knows the truth. And I'll find them."
The truth was close now. He could feel it, like the whisper of a blade waiting to be drawn.
And he would not stop until he found the one who had betrayed them.