"So you see our predicament," Roderick ckthorne''s voice cut through the tense atmosphere of the study. "My son''s engagement to your niece was all but assured until this...moner appeared."


    I watched Corbin Ashworth''s face carefully. Unlike his father Michael, whose expressions often revealed glimpses of his thoughts, Corbin maintained a mask of cold indifference.


    "Indeed," Corbin replied, swirling the amber liquid in his ss. "The situation is... unfortunate."


    Dashiell paced behind his father''s chair, unable to contain his agitation. "Unfortunate? It''s an outrage! That nobody has the audacity to im Isabelle publicly!"


    I caught the flicker of annoyance in Corbin''s eyes at my son''s outburst. Always the politician, that Corbin. Always calcting.


    "My niece has always been headstrong," Corbin said smoothly. "A trait she inherited from my father."


    The mention of Michael Ashworth hung in the air between us. Michael, the patriarch who had chosen his granddaughter over his own son as heir apparent.


    "Headstrong is one thing," I replied. "But this public deration threatens our families'' alliance. An alliance, need I remind you, that would benefit the Ashworths as much as the ckthornes."


    Corbin''s lips curled into what might generously be called a smile. "My father has always had... unconventional ideas about who should lead the family. His favoritism toward Isabelle is no secret."


    The bitterness in his voice was unmistakable.


    "And what is your position on the matter?" I asked directly.


    Corbin set down his ss with deliberate care. "My father''s health is failing rapidly. Despite appearances at public functions, he can barely manage a full day''s work."


    "That doesn''t answer my question."


    "Doesn''t it?" Corbin''s eyes met mine. "When my father passes—which will be soon—I will be the head of the Ashworth family. And my priorities will be significantly different from his."


    The implication was clear. Dashiell stopped pacing, suddenly attentive.


    "How soon?" Dashiell asked bluntly.


    Corbin''s expression hardened. "Soon enough. And when that dayes, this Liam Knight will no longer be an obstacle to our arrangement."


    "You''ll handle him?" I pressed.


    "I''ll eliminate him," Corbin corrected coldly. "After my father is gone, of course. Until then, we must maintain appearances."


    I nodded, satisfied with the pledge. "And your niece?"


    "Isabelle will learn her ce in the new order. She''ll honor the engagement as nned."


    We raised our sses in silent agreement, sealing the pact with aged whiskey and mutual ambition.


    ---


    I stared at Michael Ashworth across the breakfast table, frustration building in my chest. The old man looked worse today—skin ashen, breathingbored. The dark energy swirling around him had intensified, yet he refused to let me help.


    "Mr. Ashworth," I tried again, keeping my voice gentle. "I can see the unnatural qi depleting your life force. This isn''t a normal illness."


    Michael''s hand trembled as he set down his teacup. "I''ve consulted the finest doctors in Veridia City, young man. None of them found anything unusual."


    "Because they don''t see what I see," I insisted. "There''s a malevolent energy feeding on you. Let me—"


    "Enough!" The word came out as a rasp, followed by a coughing fit that shook his frail body.


    I reached over to help, but he waved me away.


    "I''m not a fool, Liam," he said when he could speak again. "I know my time is limited. I''ve made my peace with it."


    His resignation infuriated me. "But if this isn''t natural—"


    "Then it''s someone''s will that I should die," he interrupted. "And fighting against such will only invites greater cmity."


    I clenched my fists under the table. "You suspect someone''s responsible?"


    Michael''s gaze shifted toward the window, where the sprawling Ashworth estate stretched out below us. "In our world, death is rarely without purpose. Whether natural or... assisted."


    "Then let me help you," I pleaded. "I have techniques that can—"


    "No." His voice was firm despite his weakness. "What must happen, will happen. Your interference would only dy the inevitable and potentially put you in harm''s way."


    I stared at him, bewildered by his eptance. "You''re just going to let this kill you?"


    A sad smile crossed his face. "I''m an old man, Liam. And sometimes, the manner of one''s departure serves a greater purpose than fighting to remain."


    Before I could argue further, Isabelle entered the dining room, her face brightening at the sight of her grandfather.


    "Good morning," she said cheerfully, though I could see the concern in her eyes as she assessed her grandfather''s condition.


    Michael straightened in his chair, mustering energy I knew he didn''t have. "Good morning, my dear."


    Isabelle took her seat beside me, squeezing my hand under the table. "Grandfather, I''ve been thinking. You''ve been cooped up in this house for weeks. How about an outing?"


    Michael raised an eyebrow. "An outing?"


    "Yes! The North Province Ind is beautiful this time of year. The ferry ride is peaceful, and the sea air would do you good."


    I studied Michael''s face, watching the conflict there. Part of him wanted to refuse, to retreat to his study and continue working until hisst breath. But something in Isabelle''s hopeful expression seemed to reach him. <code ss="in-imprint-b">The M|V|LE&MPYR team worked hard on this chapter.</code>


    "North Province Ind," he repeated slowly. "I haven''t been there in years."


    "Then it''s decided," Isabelle dered, not giving him a chance to refuse. "We''ll go tomorrow. Just the three of us."


    Michael nced at me, a silent question in his eyes. I nodded slightly. Perhaps a change of scenery would give me a chance to examine his condition more thoroughly, away from the watchful eyes of the household staff—some of whom, I suspected, reported to Corbin.


    "Very well," Michael conceded. "A short trip."


    Isabelle beamed, clearly pleased with her small victory.


    ---


    Three dayster, we stood at the ferry terminal, caught in a crowd of weekend travelers. The terminal buzzed with activity—families with excited children, couples holding hands, groups of friendsughing as they nned their ind adventures.


    Michael looked worse than ever. The journey from the car to the terminal had left him winded, leaning heavily on his cane. Yet he refused to show weakness, keeping his spine straight and his expressionposed.


    "The line isn''t moving," Isabelle observed with a frown, checking her watch. "We''ve been waiting for nearly an hour."


    I shifted my weight, scanning our surroundings. "The ferry must be dyed."


    Michael sighed, though he tried to hide it. "Perhaps we should reconsider—"


    "No, Grandfather," Isabelle interrupted. "We''re already here. A little waiting won''t hurt us."


    I wasn''t so sure. Standing in this crowd was clearly taxing Michael''s limited strength. The death qi around him seemed to pulse stronger in public spaces, as if feeding off the energy of others.


    "I''ll check what''s happening," I offered, touching Isabelle''s arm. "Stay with your grandfather."


    She nodded gratefully, and I began making my way toward the ticket counter. The crowd was thick, people packed shoulder to shoulder in the summer heat. By the time I reached the front, I could see the harried ticket seller dealing with a line of impatient customers.


    "Next ferry is in forty minutes," the ticket seller announced to the crowd. "We have limited tickets remaining."


    A collective groan rose from the waiting travelers. I turned back, trying to catch Isabelle''s eye to ry the information. To my surprise, she was already pushing her way toward the counter, leaving Michael with an attendant who had offered him a chair.


    Just as Isabelle reached the front of the line, two young men cut in front of her, shoving past several other waiting customers.


    "Hey!" someone protested.


    The taller of the two men—expensively dressed with an arrogant set to his shoulders—ignored theint. "Two tickets for the next ferry," he demanded of the seller.


    "Sir, there''s a line," the ticket seller began.


    The young man pped a stack of bills on the counter. "I don''t do lines."


    I moved quickly, positioning myself beside Isabelle. "She was next," I said firmly.


    The young man turned, irritation shing across his face before his gazended on Isabelle. His expression immediately changed, eyes widening with appreciation as he took in her beauty.


    "Well, hello there," he said, his voice dropping to what he clearly thought was a seductive tone. "My apologies for the confusion."


    Isabelle regarded him coolly. "There''s no confusion. I was next, and you cut in line."


    Instead of backing down, the young man''s smile widened. "Allow me to make it up to you. I''ll buy your ticket."


    Hispanion snickered, clearly enjoying the show.


    "That won''t be necessary," I interjected. "We can buy our own tickets."


    The young man finally deigned to look at me, his gaze dismissive. "And you are?"


    "Her boyfriend," I replied evenly.


    His eyebrows shot up. "Boyfriend?" Heughed, turning to hispanion. "Did you hear that?"


    "I need three tickets," Isabelle told the seller, ignoring the interruption.


    The young man''s attention snapped back to her. "Three? nning a party without me?" His gaze swept the terminal until itnded on Michael, who was slowly making his way toward us, leaning heavily on his cane.


    "Actually," the man said, turning back to the seller, "I''ll take all the remaining tickets for the next ferry."


    Gasps and angry murmurs erupted from the crowd.


    "You can''t do that!" someone shouted.


    "Watch me," he replied smugly, pushing more money across the counter.


    I stepped forward, my patience wearing thin. "That''s enough."


    His eyes narrowed. "Back off, boyfriend. This doesn''t concern you."


    "It does when you''re deliberately trying to prevent us from boarding."


    Michael finally reached us, his breathingbored from the exertion. "What seems to be the problem here?"


    The young man nced at Michael with obvious disdain. "Who are you, some old geezer? What''s it got to do with you? Did I ask for your opinion?"


    The terminal fell silent at the tant disrespect. Even the young man''spanion looked ufortable.


    I felt something dangerous stir inside me—the familiar heat of anger rising, threatening to break through my carefully maintainedposure.