"This troublesome Knight is bing more than a nuisance," Dashiell ckthorne muttered, swirling the amber liquid in his crystal ss. "First he humiliates my family''s name, and now he has the audacity to refuse the War God himself?"


    "Indeed, sir." His steward stood at attention, hands sped behind his back. "Our sources confirm Liam Knight declined Commander Bellweather''s offer to be his disciple."


    Dashiell''s lip curled into a sneer. "The fool. Does he realize what he''s throwing away? Or is it arrogance?"


    "Perhaps neither," the steward ventured carefully. "Our intelligence suggests he remains loyal to Michael Ashworth."


    At the mention of that name, Dashiell mmed his ss down, liquid sloshing over the rim.


    "Michael Ashworth," he spat. "Even bedridden, that old man continues to be a thorn in my side."


    "The Ashworth family''s support makes Knight dangerous," the steward noted. "Without it..."


    Dashiell''s eyes narrowed. "Without it, he''s nothing but an upstart who''s made too many enemies too quickly." He stood abruptly. "Knight has painted a target on his back with this public challenge. Perhaps we should be patient and let others do our work for us."


    "A wise approach, sir."


    "Still, monitor his movements closely. I want to know his every step."


    ---


    I leaned my head against the train window, watching thendscape rush by. The past weeks had been exhausting—physically, mentally, and emotionally. The tournament, the confrontation with Bellweather, the constant vignce required in a world where everyone seemed to want something from me...


    "You look terrible," Eamon Greene remarked from the seat across from me. His sister dozed against his shoulder.


    I managed a tired smile. "Thanks for the update."


    "When are you nning to visit the Celestial Apothecary Guild?"


    "Not immediately," I sighed. "I need to regroup first. And it''s almost New Year''s."


    Eamon nodded. "Where will you celebrate?"


    The question caught me off-guard. Where would I celebrate? Isabelle was upied with family matters. I had no family of my own. The realization of my istion hit harder than I expected.


    "I haven''t thought about it," I admitted.


    "Join us in Havenwood," Eamon offered casually. "My sister and I are heading back for a few days. It''s not fancy, but it''s better than being alone."


    I considered it briefly. Havenwood—my old stomping grounds. The ce where I''d been humiliated, cast aside like garbage. The thought of returning stirredplicated feelings.


    "Maybe I should face those ghosts," I murmured, more to myself than to Eamon.


    "What?"


    "Nothing," I shook my head. "Thanks for the invitation. I''lle."


    ---


    Havenwood City looked smaller somehow. The buildings that once seemed imposing now appeared ordinary, almost shabby. Had the city changed, or had I?


    "Home sweet home," Eamon said as we stepped off the train. "Not quite the mour of Veridia City, eh?"


    "It has its charms." I hefted my bag over my shoulder, scanning the familiar skyline.


    We decided to walk rather than take a taxi. The crisp winter air felt good after the stuffiness of the train. People rushed past, carrying shopping bags full of New Year preparations. Familiesughed together. Couples walked hand-in-hand. The normalcy of it all felt surreal after everything I''d been through.


    As we turned onto Maple Avenue, amotion caught my attention. A small crowd had gathered outside a café I used to frequent. Raised voices cut through the holiday bustle. <q ss="phantom-imprint">C.h$eck My V&ir$tual Li%br#a%r#y@ Em&p-ire (^MV*1L.E&M-P1YR)# for the l^a%t^e+s-t upda!te%s!.</q>


    "Please," a woman pleaded. "I just need more time—"


    "Time''s up," a gruff voice responded. "You think Mr. Sterling will ept excuses? Pay up or face the consequences."


    I froze mid-step. That voice—I knew it all too well.


    Seraphina Sterling stood cornered by two burly men in dark suits. Her perfect makeup couldn''t hide the fear in her eyes or the nervous tremor in her hands as she clutched her designer purse.


    "Move along," Eamon muttered, tugging at my sleeve. "Not our problem."


    But I found myself unable to walk away. Not out of affection—those feelings had died a violent death months ago—but from a morbid curiosity. How had the mighty fallen so low?


    "I''ll catch up," I told Eamon, who sighed dramatically but waited.


    As I approached, Seraphina''s eyes widened in recognition. Hope shed across her face—an expression I''d once yearned to see directed at me.


    "Liam!" she gasped. "Oh thank God!"


    The two men turned. The taller one—Gideon''s former bodyguard—sized me up with a dismissive nce.


    "Well, well," he sneered. "If it isn''t the doormat himself. Beat it, loser. This doesn''t concern you."


    I kept my face expressionless. "What seems to be the problem here?"


    "None of your business," the shorter man growled.


    Seraphina stepped forward, her expensive perfume wafting through the winter air. "Liam, please help me. These men—they''re threatening me over some ridiculous debt."


    "Ridiculous?" The taller man barked augh. "Your husband borrowed half a million from Mr. Sterling for his business ventures. Now he''s skipped town, leaving you with the bill."


    I raised an eyebrow. "Gideon ran?"


    "Two weeks ago," Seraphina whispered, eyes downcast. "He took everything."


    Something twisted inside me—not sympathy, but a bitter satisfaction. How perfectly cyclical. The man she''d betrayed me for had betrayed her in turn.


    "Not my concern," I said tly, turning to leave.


    The taller man mistook my movement and grabbed my shoulder. "Hold up. You know this woman? Maybe you can pay her debts."


    His grip tightened, fingers digging into my shoulder. Once, this would have intimidated me. Now, it was merely annoying.


    I looked pointedly at his hand until he removed it.


    "Touch me again," I said quietly, "and you''ll need medical attention."


    The man''s face flushed with anger. "Big talk from a—"


    His words cut off as I moved. One moment I was standing still; the next, he was on his knees, arm twisted at an unnatural angle.


    "What the—" the second man lunged forward.


    I caught his fist mid-swing, squeezing until he gasped in pain. "Bad decision."


    Both men stared up at me with confusion and fear. I wasn''t the pushover they remembered.


    "Tell William Sterling that his debt collectors need better training," I said, releasing them both. "Now leave."


    They scrambled away, casting nervous nces over their shoulders.


    Seraphina stared at me, her expression a mixture of shock and calction. I recognized that look—she was reassessing my value, reconfiguring her approach.


    "Liam," she breathed, stepping closer. "You''ve changed."


    "Yes."


    "I''ve missed you," she continued, her voice dropping to the sultry tone that once made my heart race. "We should talk. I''ve made terrible mistakes."


    Iughed—a short, harsh sound that made her flinch.


    "Seraphina, the only mistake here is thinking I care."


    Her face hardened. "You owe me, Liam. After everything we shared—"


    "Shared?" I cut her off. "You shared nothing except your contempt. You treated me like dirt for three years."


    "I was confused," she insisted, reaching for my arm. "Gideon manipted me. But now I see clearly—"


    "Now that he''s gone and took your money," I corrected her. "Now that you need someone to handle your father-inw''s thugs."


    Her eyes shed dangerously. "You think you''re so much better now? You''re still the same pathetic nobody. Without the Ashworth family''s backing, what are you?"


    I smiled coldly. "Let''s not find out."


    I nodded to Eamon, who approached with a smirk.


    "Miss Sterling," I said formally, "my friend will escort you home safely. After that, we''re done. Permanently."


    "You can''t just—"


    "I can," I interrupted. "And I am. Goodbye, Seraphina."


    I walked away, her protests fading behind me. Each step felt like shedding another pound of the burden I''d carried for years.


    ---


    Later that evening, Eamon and I headed to the Royal Garden Hotel. I''d made reservations for a New Year''s Eve dinner—a small celebration of my own personal freedom from the past. The hotel lobby glittered with festive decorations, a massive Christmas tree dominating the center.


    "Nice ce," Eamon whistled. "Bet you couldn''t get in here back in your doormat days."


    I grimaced. "Must you keep referring to that period of my life?"


    "Just appreciating the contrast," he grinned. "Table for Knight, right?"


    The manager at the reception desk—a balding man with an overly practiced smile—looked up from hisputer.


    "Knight? Let me check..." His fingers cked across the keyboard. "Ah, yes. I see the reservation."


    "Great," I nodded, suddenly hungry. "We''re a bit early, but—"


    "I''m terribly sorry," the manager interrupted, his smile not reaching his eyes. "It seems your table has been... reassigned."


    Eamon frowned. "Reassigned? What does that mean?"


    "Another party required additional seating, and as you hadn''t arrived yet..."


    "We''re early," I pointed out. "The reservation was for seven. It''s only six-thirty."


    The manager''s smile strained further. "Yes, well. These things happen. Perhaps another night? We''d be happy to refund your deposit."


    Eamon''s face reddened with anger. "I made the reservation ten days ago, and now you tell me it''s upied?"


    I ced a restraining hand on his arm, studying the manager''s face. This wasn''t a simple booking error. His eyes kept darting to the dining room entrance, where I spotted several well-dressed men I recognized as local business leaders.


    "Who took our table?" I asked quietly.


    The manager swallowed. "Sir, I can''t—"


    "William Sterling and his associates," I guessed, noting the flicker of confirmation in his eyes. "I see."


    Of course. Some things in Havenwood hadn''t changed after all.