The car cut through the night like a blade.
Snow whipped against the windshield as the engine growled along the empty road leading away from the warehouse district. Claude sat in the back seat, shoulders hunched, staring at his reflection in the dark glass. His breath came slow and measured, but his pulse still thundered in his ears.
He was alive.
Barely.
Fabio drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting dangerously close to the handgun tucked beneath his jacket. His eyes never stopped moving—mirrors, road, treeline, mirrors again. Voclain sat in the passenger seat, silent now, his earlier coughing replaced by a deathly stillness that worried Claude more than panic would have.
The presence inside Claude had retreated into a tense, coiled silence.
Waiting.
No one spoke for several minutes.
The road stretched endlessly ahead, swallowed by darkness and snowfall.
Finally, Claude broke the silence.
"You didn't answer me," he said quietly.
Fabio didn't look back. "Then ask again."
Claude swallowed. "You knew this was possible. Didn't you?"
The car's engine hummed steadily. Fabio's jaw tightened.
"I knew something was watching," he said at last. "I didn't know what shape it would take."
"That thing called me by name," Claude pressed. "Not just my name. My full name. It knew things it shouldn't."
Voclain shifted slightly, his voice hoarse. "That's how they work. Names are hooks. Blood is the line."
Claude's gaze snapped to him. "They?"
Voclain exhaled slowly. "Later."
Fabio shot him a warning look. "Not here."
Claude leaned back, frustration burning in his chest. Every instinct from his previous life screamed at him that half-truths were more dangerous than lies.
The presence stirred faintly.
"They're afraid of what you'll realize."
Claude clenched his fists.
The Weiss estate emerged from the night like a fortress carved from shadow and stone. Iron gates loomed ahead, ancient and imposing, dusted with fresh snow. Fabio slowed the car, flashing his headlights in a precise sequence.
The gates opened without a sound.
Claude felt it immediately.
The air changed.
It was subtle—but unmistakable. The oppressive pressure he'd felt since the warehouse loosened, as if invisible hands had released their grip on his chest.
The presence inside him whispered, cautious but relieved:
"Boundaries. Old ones."
Fabio parked near the main entrance. Lights flickered on inside the estate, one by one, as if the house itself were waking.
Voclain stepped out first, steadying himself against the car. Claude followed, boots crunching in the snow.
The door opened before they reached it.
Stefan stood there.
Barefoot.
Wearing a sweater and dark trousers, hair slightly tousled, eyes sharp despite the hour. He took in the scene in a single glance: Claude's pale face, Voclain's unsteady posture, Fabio's tense stance.
And then his gaze locked onto Claude.
Something shifted behind Stefan's eyes.
"Come inside," Stefan said calmly. "Now."
The door closed behind them with a heavy finality.
Warmth enveloped Claude, but it did nothing to stop the chill crawling beneath his skin. The estate felt… aware. Like it was watching him just as closely as Stefan was.
They moved into the sitting room. A fire crackled softly. The contrast with what had just happened felt unreal.
Stefan gestured toward the sofa. "Sit."
Claude obeyed.
Fabio remained standing. Voclain eased himself into a chair with a low sigh.
Stefan crossed his arms. "Start talking."
Fabio spoke first. "We were followed."
Stefan's expression didn't change. "By what?"
Claude answered. "Something that shouldn't exist."
Silence fell.
The fire popped.
Stefan studied Claude carefully. Not like a child looking at a friend—but like a commander assessing a liability.
"What did it do?" Stefan asked.
Claude hesitated. Then told the truth.
About the darkness.
The whispers.
The paralysis.
The way it tried to bind itself to him.
When he finished, Stefan didn't speak immediately.
Instead, he turned to Voclain. "You brought this to my doorstep."
Voclain met his gaze steadily. "I brought him to safety."
Stefan's voice sharpened. "Those are not the same thing."
Voclain sighed. "You knew this day would come."
Stefan's jaw tightened.
Claude frowned. "Knew what?"
Stefan finally looked at him again. "That some doors, once opened, don't stay closed."
Claude felt something cold settle in his stomach. "You know what I am."
Stefan didn't deny it.
"You're not normal," Stefan said. "And neither is what's attached to you."
Claude laughed bitterly. "You say that like it's news to me."
Stefan's tone softened, just slightly. "No. I say it because there are rules. Lines. Protections. That thing crossed one tonight."
Fabio interjected, "And it won't be the last."
Stefan nodded. "No. It won't."
Claude leaned forward. "Then tell me what's coming."
Stefan hesitated.
Just long enough for Claude to notice.
"There are forces," Stefan said slowly, "that operate beneath politics, beneath money, beneath even war. They don't rule openly. They influence. They select."
Claude's heartbeat quickened. "Select what?"
"Vessels," Voclain answered quietly.
Claude froze.
The presence inside him went utterly still.
Stefan continued, "Most people never notice them. Some sense them. Very few attract them."
Claude whispered, "And I attract them."
"Yes," Stefan said. "Which means one of two things."
Claude looked up. "Which are?"
Stefan's eyes hardened. "You are either a threat… or a resource."
Claude felt anger flare. "I'm not an object."
Stefan stepped closer. "Everything is an object to something. The difference is whether you choose who uses you."
Silence fell again.
The fire crackled.
Outside, the wind howled against ancient stone.
Claude exhaled slowly. "Then teach me."
Stefan's eyebrows lifted slightly. "Teach you what?"
"How to survive," Claude said. "How to fight back."
Fabio tensed. "Stefan—"
Stefan raised a hand, silencing him.
"You don't train a boy like this lightly," Fabio warned.
Stefan didn't look away from Claude. "He's already in the war."
Claude met his gaze. "So were you. Once."
For the first time that night, Stefan smiled.
It was not warm.
It was not cruel.
It was understanding.
"You really are trouble," Stefan murmured.
He turned toward the fire. "Very well."
Claude's breath caught. "You'll help me?"
Stefan nodded once. "On one condition."
Claude didn't hesitate. "Name it."
Stefan's voice dropped.
"You obey the rules of this house. Absolutely. No secrets. No solo decisions. And if I tell you to run—"
"I won't," Claude interrupted.
Stefan's gaze snapped back to him, sharp as steel. "You will."
Claude swallowed.
"…Understood."
The presence inside him whispered, uncertain but alert:
"He's dangerous. But not to us."
Stefan turned to Fabio. "Double the perimeter wards. Notify both grandfathers."
Fabio's eyes widened slightly. "Both?"
"Yes," Stefan said. "This is no longer a local problem."
Voclain closed his eyes. "Then the board is finally in motion."
Stefan glanced at him. "It always was. We were just pretending otherwise."
Claude leaned back, exhaustion crashing over him all at once.
Whatever his life had been before tonight—
Whatever illusion of normalcy he'd clung to—
It was gone.
And deep down, beneath the fear and the confusion…
A spark ignited.
If this was a war…
Then he would learn how to fight it.