The King recalled the incident of the false fire alarm. On the surface, the event appeared inconsequential, yet it had rooted a quiet unease in his thoughts. An instinct deeper than reason whispered of its gravity.

He’d once speculated that Katelyn had been puppeteering a covert stratagem, but her death, validated by both the T Organization and his own intelligence network…

Now, it resonated with a complexity he’d never fathomed. Her absence had not ended the game.

The necessity struck him like a blade—securing Vincent’s alliance could no longer linger in deliberation. Without that pact, the path ahead would fracture into chaos, each step forward a gamble against cascading collapse.

With Vincent’s loyalty secured, even the most formidable shadow schemer would be rendered impotent. Moreover, with Vincent’s allegiance solidified, the King could wield him as a blade to sever the T Organization’s influence.

The King’s gaze lingered in the weighty silence before finally meeting T’s eyes, nodding. “Keep your agents sharp,” he commanded, his voice steel-edged. “The moment your shadows catch whispers of movement, I must know. We’ll craft our countermeasures before this faceless adversary’s storm breaks upon us.”

He cradled his brow, fingers digging into the bridge of his nose as a throbbing pressure crept into his skull. Everything now converged into a maelstrom, their collisions deafening.

A cold revulsion coiled in his gut, the specter of that inevitability clawing at his resolve like a beast starving for collapse. For now, he could only brace against the tide.

T sidestepped the reply, pivoting sharply to a new topic. “Handle the woman in the attic,” he urged. “Katelyn has died, but Vincent’s tenacity could resurrect threads we cannot afford to unravel.”

The King froze. His voice hesitated as he stared at T. “Katelyn’s demise has extinguished the flame. Without her, Vincent’s pursuit lacks tinder.” Even if Vincent uncovered the truth, it wouldn’t matter. It had nothing to do with him.

Your update hub: g?lησv?ls?c?m

T let the silence stretch, a coiled serpent of implication, before replying, “Consider it an advisory. It’s up to you what you do with it, but you’ll have to handle the fallout.”

For years, he’d implored the King to eliminate the woman, a plea met only with obstinate refusal. Her existence was a blade suspended above their pact, motionless yet omnipresent, its edge eternally thirsting for the rupture it would one day carve. Her eradication wasn’t just a task. It was an imperative etched into his bones, the only path to reclaiming the stillness stolen by her existence.

T rose, his silence a blade severing their discourse. He strode toward the exit.

The King stood motionless, his gaze anchored to the man’s receding silhouette. Struck silent, he turned the counsel over in his mind, each word a stone unsettling still waters.

But memories long buried clawed their way to the surface, wrenching a sigh from the depths of his being.

With T now absent, the King rose, his movements deliberate. He strode toward the secluded grove hidden behind the garden. A mere ten minutes later, he stood before the attic’s door.

Startled awake by the sound of approaching footsteps, the woman inside jolted upright, her pillow gripped tightly as she pressed herself into the corner.

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