My life had transitioned from public humiliation to covert servitude. After the financial collapse in Geneva, I was taken to a discreet Lykaios safe house near the Apex—a modest, well-fortified cabin nestled deep in a protected wilderness area. This was the terrifying reality of "being brought close": I was physically near Elara and the Heir, yet I remained a prisoner under constant, silent surveillance.
My first visitor was not Elara, but Rhys and Kaelen.
Rhys, immaculate in a black tactical uniform, stood beside Kaelen, whose silent, menacing presence filled the small room. The air was thick with ancient, predatory power. This was not a business meeting; it was an interrogation designed to break the human spirit.
"Thorne," Rhys began, his voice a cold, measured drone. "The physical pe
