Vance grabbed the ashtray from the counter and hurled it across the room.

  It shattered against the wall inches from Kyrion’s ear, porcelain exploding like a gunshot. Shards rained down, skittering across the marble floor but Kyrion didn’t flinch. He stood where he was, spine straight, hands clasped behind his back—granite in a storm.

  “You had one job!” Vance roared. The sound tore through the room, raw and unrestrained. “One. To keep an eye on him. And now you’re standing here telling me he vanished? You were supposed to station man right outside that door for the entire fucking night!”

  Vance dragged his hands through his hair, pacing in tight, erratic circles. The anger was there—obvious, volatile—but Kyrion saw the other thing riding beneath it. Panic. Disbelief. The sharp edge of loss he hadn’t allowed himself to name.

  One moment the boy had been here. Breathing. Existing within Vance’s reach.

  And then—nothing.

  “He never stepped out of that door,” Kyrion said evenly. His voice was low, steady, unprovoked by the chaos around him. “I was myself stationed there the entire night. I didn’t budge.”

  Vance stopped short, turning on him. “And was that your only job, Kyrion?” he snapped. “To stand outside my door like a fucking statue?”

  “No,” Kyrion admitted, after a pause.

  “Then where is he?” Vance growled. His eyes were bloodshot now, fever-bright. “If he jumped out this window—” He moved behind the counter, gesturing sharply toward the only other exit in that room. “—someone should have been watching that side. How did he even get them open? He did not drag me all the way, that much I swear!”

  Kyrion followed his gaze. He exhaled slowly, almost too quiet to hear.

  “The system wasn’t overridden the way you’re thinking,” he said steadily. “No biometrics were cracked. No alarms were tripped.”

  Vance let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Then enlighten me. Because my house doesn’t open itself.”

  Kyrion inclined his head slightly. A concession. Not an apology.

  Something Vance admired in the two brothers. This indomitable spirit and unapologetic arrogance! It always made him overlook their origins.

  “Your security isn’t unique, Vance. None of the East End estates are. They’re all serviced by the same player—The Weatheringtons. Whole of the East Elites mindlessly ape what their top echelons pursue. They are like the flagrant courtiers of the past just walking in modern day suits. Weatheringtons are gold. Trusted names but they deploy the same installer, softwares, and security protocol mostly.”

  Vance’s jaw tightened.

  Kyrion turned toward the window and drew the curtains aside. At first glance, the glass looked seamless—an unbroken sheet of white, polished to the point of deception. He pressed two fingers against it, not where one would expect, but along the frame, low and near the corner.

  A faint line flared to life.

  The panel slid back silently, revealing not the night beyond, but a narrow service cavity embedded into the wall.

  “This system was never meant to be breached from the inside,” Kyrion said evenly. “It was built to keep intruders out. That’s where the flaw lies.”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  He reached in and exposed the concealed maintenance panel—flush-mounted, unmarked, the kind installers forgot existed once the walls were sealed.

  “The biometric lock governs normal access,” he continued. “But during installation and emergency servicing, the system allows an override. Fire safety. Structural evacuation. System failure contingencies.” He glanced back at Vance. “It requires an engineer-level access code. Not something your guards have.”

  “Only the agency has it,” Vance snapped.

  “Yes.” Kyrion’s eyes stayed on him. “And that is the problem.”

  Silence settled between them, heavy and brittle.

  “Once that code is compromised,” Kyrion went on, “it doesn’t open one house. Sometimes it opens many. The agency rotates staff and one compromised staff may hold a key to many such establishments. Shared access. Shared credentials. Shared trust. The East End prefers loyalty over redundancy.”

  Vance turned away, pacing, hands flexing like he wanted to tear something apart and couldn’t decide what.

  “You expect me to believe,” he said tightly, “that a college student understands my security better than my own engineers? And even if I humor that insanity—how did he walk past every guard in this house without being seen?”

  Kyrion hesitated. Not from fear—but from certainty.

  “I’m not proud to say this,” he said finally, “but he slipped out of my sight earlier today. Briefly.”

  Vance’s head snapped up.

  “I found him in the drawing room,” Kyrion went on. “Near the back corridors. That wing was built close to the boundary wall as the servant quarters, service passages and auxiliary exits occupy quite a portion on that side. If the guard rotations are studied carefully, and a distraction is timed precisely, that stretch can be crossed in minutes.”

  He paused, choosing accuracy over comfort.

  “If he used a servant access card during that window, neither the system nor our men would register it. A night-shift servant was found unconscious near those corridors shortly after. That explains the gap.”

  Silence fell.

  Vance stared at him, eyes burning. “You’re telling me,” he said slowly, dangerously, “that in the few minutes he was out of your sight, he somehow planned all of this? Miraculously landed his hand on the access codes?”

  “And the drunken act?” Vance continued, his voice rising again. “That was just theatre? He humiliated me—played helpless—to do what, exactly?”

  He stepped closer, fury sharpening into something more personal. “Kyrion, I’ve trusted your judgment for years. But this—this sounds like you’re dressing incompetence up as paranoia. You expect me to believe a boy walked into my house and made fools of all of us? And you - the head of my security never noticed before the flaws that he did in a matter of moments?”

  On any other day, Kyrion would have swallowed the rebuke. Let Vance vent. Preserved the illusion of control.

  But not today.

  Because now Kyrion was sure.

  Because the boy’s eyes had been wrong. Too calm. Too measuring.

  “I never saw it,” Kyrion said quietly. “Because you forbade me to think like a man from the West.”

  The words hung heavy in the air.

  After a long pause, he added, “Askai isn’t some rebellious East End brat. He is West in blood and instinct. The kind raised to survive predators by becoming one.”

  Vance’s face twisted. “Don’t.”

  “He’s trained,” Kyrion continued, unwavering. “Once I heard of a boy in the West trained in the shadow of Valez. They said he listened to all the whispers in the East. He was the eyes and the ears of him and no one in the East knew any better. They never saw him hiding behind their walls. A viper-that’s what he was. There’s a strong possibility Askai’s a mole too—working for Moraine Valez.”

  The impact was instant.

  Vance crossed the room in three strides and slammed Kyrion into the wall, fingers fisting into his lapels. Despite Kyrion’s towering frame, Vance pinned him there with pure, unfiltered rage.

  “Say that again,” Vance hissed, breath hot and uneven. “Say his name again and I’ll kill you.”

  Kyrion didn’t resist. He didn’t argue. He only watched.

  Not the anger—but the fear behind it.

  “Get the blonde,” Vance snarled. “Drag him out of whatever hole he thinks he’s hiding in. Bring him to me.”

  “I don’t care what it takes,” he said. “I don’t care who I have to burn. I will not lose him. And I will make sure Askai never steps out of line again.”

  Kyrion’s hands fisted on his side.

  “There is something else you must know. It happened last night. Moraine led an attack into Middle Nolan.”