LETHAL LEGACY

Chapter 3: The Ghost in the Machine

POV: Rian

My apartment was a freezer.

Technically, it was a "studio flat," but it felt more like a damp shoebox. For the last three days, the radiator had rattled, hissed, and produced exactly zero heat.

I sat on my bed wrapped in two duvets, sketching. I could see my breath.

"Come on," I pleaded with the heater.

I checked my bank account. £14.50.

I couldn't afford a portable heater. I couldn't afford to move. I was stuck freezing until my landlord, Mr. Henderson, decided to care. Which would be never.

I grabbed my bag to head to the university library. At least they had heating.

POV: Leo

10:00 AM.

Target has left the residence. He is shivering.

Unacceptable.

I waited until Rian was on the bus, then I stepped out of the Beast. I picked the lock on his front door in four seconds. I went straight to the basement.

Mr. Henderson was down there, smoking and watching horse racing. He looked up, startled.

"Who the 'ell are you?"

I stood at the bottom of the stairs, adjusting my leather gloves. "The heating in 2B is malfunctioning."

"Yeah? I'll get to it next week."

I took a step forward. "You will get to it now."

"Get off my property!"

I pulled out my phone. "Mr. Henderson. You have three building code violations. You are declaring half your rental income. And you have a gambling debt of twelve thousand pounds with a bookie in Shoreditch."

Henderson went pale. "How do you..."

"I bought your debt this morning," I said calmly. "I own you."

I pointed to the boiler. "Fix the heating. Install a digital thermostat in 2B. Fill the refrigerator with fresh produce. And replace the lock on the front door; it’s pathetic."

"Right away. Sir."

"One more thing," I said, turning to leave. "If Rian Ellis ever shivers in this house again... I will burn it down. With you inside."

POV: Rian

I got home at 6:00 PM.

I unlocked the door and paused. It was... warm. Toasty.

There was a brand new, high-tech digital thermostat on the wall, glowing a soft blue: 21°C.

Mr. Henderson knocked on the door, sweating profusely. He handed me a massive bag of groceries.

"Welcome basket! Sorry about the heat!" He practically ran away.

I stood in my warm apartment, holding a bag of expensive pasta and wine.

"Okay," I whispered. "Weird. But I'll take it."