The broker looked up, his eyes wild and bloodshot. His face was dark with bruises and his own blood, and his split lip hissed as he tried to pull back from Cilian’s towering, yet casual presence. The cold air of the basement didn’t seem to bother Cilian, who stood with his good hand tucked into his trouser pocket, looking as though he were merely greeting a guest at a dinner party.

"I... I don’t know what you’re talking about," the broker wheezed, the chair creaking as he trembled. "I just moved the crates. I don’t ask what’s in them or who wants them."

Cilian let out a soft, melodic laugh. He leaned down, his face inches from the man’s, his wounded shoulder held perfectly still.

"Oh, Silas. We’re past the part where we pretend. You see, a bullet was meant for my little lamb here," Cilian gestured vaguely toward Ren, who stood by the doorway. "And I don’t like it when people try to break my things. It makes me feel very... restless."

Ren watched from the corner, his jaw tight. He still had Cilian’s blood under his fingernails. He looked at the broker—a man who had once stood in his father’s office, laughing and drinking expensive scotch. Seeing him reduced to this should have felt like justice, but all Ren felt was a cold, hollow dread.

"The Mordecais," Cilian continued, his voice dropping to a sweet, dangerous whisper. "Why are they targeting my Ren? His family is dead. The name Pierce is gone. Unless... they think there’s something left to salvage?"

The broker’s eyes flickered toward Ren for a split second, a flash of recognition that didn’t go unnoticed by Cilian.

"They... they think he knows where the ledger is," the broker blurted out, his voice cracking. "The old man’s black ledger. The one with the codes for the offshore weapon caches and the Syndicate’s dirty laundry. They don’t want to kill him, Cilian! They wanted to snatch him. The sniper was supposed to hit the guard, not the boy!"

Ren felt the air leave his lungs. The Ledger?

His father had mentioned it once, calling it family insurance, but Ren had always thought it was just his father trying to be, well, legendary. He never thought it was real. He didn’t even know if it was real, or if what these people were chasing was a mere belief, a delusion.

He folded his arms, turning his head away.

Cilian’s smile didn’t falter, but his eyes turned cold. He reached out with his good hand and gripped the broker’s throat, not with rage, but with a slow, terrifying pressure to see how long it would take before he lost his temper and snapped his neck.

"So, they weren’t trying to kill him or me," Cilian mused, his tone light as a feather. "But they were certainly trying to take back what I bought. They want to steal from my house."

He turned his head slightly, looking at Ren over his shoulder. The fox-like grin was back, wider and more possessive than before. "Did you hear that, Ren? It seems you’re even more valuable than I thought. Everyone wants a piece of you."

Ren did not respond; he simply gripped his folded arms tighter, keeping his head down.

Cilian let go of the man’s throat and stood up straight, smoothing his ruined shirt, though it didn’t do much since the shirt was already in tatters from Ren’s knife skills. It was a pretty decoration, he thought with a happy smile.

Then, he looked back at the broker, his expression turning bored.

"You’ve been helpful, Silas. But unfortunately, I can’t have people knowing that the Mordecais have an inside track to my docks. It will...ruin my reputation."

"No... wait! Cilian, please!" Silas begged, knowing the end had come for him with those words. "PLEASE!"

Cilian didn’t look back. He started walking toward the stairs, gesturing for Ren to follow.

As they reached the door, Cilian looked at the guard standing by the wall.

"Make it quiet," Cilian ordered, his voice singing. "I have a headache from the surgery."

Ren took one last look at the broker as the guards gagged him and put a sackcloth over his head. He was finished. Cilian had no room for traitors.

And then, the door slammed shut, muffling the broker’s final muffled scream.

They climbed the stairs in silence, the temperature rising as they returned to the main house. Cilian stopped at the top, leaning against the wall for a moment, his face turning a shade paler. The adrenaline was wearing off, and the reality of the bullet hole was setting in.

"You knew about the ledger, didn’t you?" Cilian asked, looking at Ren with a curious, tilted head.

"I thought it was just a story," Ren said honestly, his heart still racing. "My father never showed it to me, so I never knew it was real."

Cilian hummed, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind Ren’s ear. The touch was soft, but the possessiveness behind it was suffocating.

"Well," Cilian whispered. "It seems we have a new game to play. And don’t worry, Ren. I’ll make sure the vampires never get close enough to ask you about it. You’re much safer in my cage."

Ren looked at the blood on his own sleeve and then at Cilian’s smiling, wounded face. He wondered, though. If this so praised, powerful ledger really did exist, then it would make sense for someone to wipe out his family. It would make absolute sense then.

Because that ledger could very well cement the rule of any powerhouse in possession of it.

"What about you?" Ren suddenly asked. "Did you know about the ledger?"

Ren’s heart hammered against his ribs as he waited.

The question hung in the air heavy, sharp, and dangerous.

If Cilian had known about the ledger two years ago, then the destruction of the Pierce family would all make sense. It wasn’t just a whim—it was a calculated heist.