The whisper still echoed in his mind.
“You are the last Dragon Heir. Fight like one.”
Jack stayed on his knees, the cold sweat clinging to his skin like ghost hands. His breath slowed. The glow from the dagger hummed across the walls of his room, steady as a heartbeat. Something inside him—something ancient—had been stirred awake.
But the silence didn’t last long.
A creak outside.
Jack’s head snapped toward the door. Footsteps—silent, disciplined. Not from the stairs. From the window.
He grabbed the dagger.
Another whisper. Not from spirits.
Leather against steel.
Jack whirled just as the glass shattered. A black-clad figure burst through, blades drawn, moving with impossible speed.
Time slowed.
Jack ducked under the first swipe, kicked the assassin in the chest, sending him bac
