Marcus Romulus
It was deep night. The corridors of the private clinic suffocated him—everything here felt too clean, too sterile, as if pain itself wasn’t allowed to exist inside these walls.
Marcus stood before his guard like a statue carved from tension and barely restrained rage. His voice was even, controlled—but something dark and metallic vibrated beneath it.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes, signore,” the guard nodded. “The motion sensors on the roof were triggered. The camera footage vanished for exactly seven minutes. They came through the west side. It’s shadow-tech. The kind Remus uses. And… one of them reached the window of her room.”
Marcus straightened as if struck by lightning. The chair behind him crashed to the floor, but he didn’t notice.
His face turned to stone, jaw clench
