Moody did not announce himself when he came home.
The gate recognized his car before the guards did—metal sliding aside with a whisper that felt almost apologetic. The house beyond hadn't changed. Same stone steps worn smooth by decades of careful feet. Same neem tree leaning toward the roof as if trying to listen in. Same windows that held light like memory.
What had changed was him.
Meenu was already on the porch when he stepped out of the car, phone still clutched in her hand like she'd been dialing him even as she ran. She froze when she saw him properly—taller somehow, darker at the edges, eyes carrying too much weight for a man not yet old.
"You finally came," she said, accusing and relieved all at once.
Moody opened his arms. She hit his chest harder than necessary.
"Three-years," she muttered into his coat. "Do you know how long that is?"
"I do," he said quietly. "That's why I'm here now."
Behind her, the door opened.
Mrs. Patty stood there, hands already trembling, eyes already wet. For a moment she just stared, as if afraid he might vanish if she moved too fast.
Then she crossed the distance and cupped his face like she used to when he was a boy who scraped knees and hid knives under his mattress.
"You look thin," she said softly.
"I'm fine, Ma."
She hugged him anyway. Long. Tight. The kind of hug meant to press all the missing time back into place.
Inside, the house smelled of familiar things—cardamom tea, old paper, polish rubbed into wood by hands that believed in order. Moody let himself stand there, letting the sound of it all settle him.
Only one thing was missing.
Mr. Edwin sat in his chair near the window, newspaper folded but unread. He didn't look up when Moody entered.
No greeting.
No question.
No welcome.
Just silence.
Moody waited. He had learned patience in harsher places.
At last, Edwin spoke without turning. "You've been busy."
"Yes, sir."
"You always were."
That was all.
But when Moody moved past him, he caught it—the smallest tightening of Edwin's jaw, the brief lift of his eyes reflected in the glass. Not anger.
Relief.
Later that night, when the house had gone quiet and Meenu finally slept, Edwin stood alone in the study, staring at an old photograph tucked behind a ledger. A younger man. A boy beside him, stubborn chin raised in defiance.
"He came back," Edwin said softly to no one.
That was enough.
The next day across the city, tension gathered like a storm choosing where to break. The Whiskey's Family received a call from the Stack's informing them about the Family Meeting they'll be having in the afternoon. Mr Edwin just shook his head slowly when his wife informed him about the Meeting and he knew things won't go as they all wish. He took his last sip from his cup then walked outside ready to face another scandal. His chauffeur was already waiting for him in the car.
Later that afternoon Nicky sat straight-backed at the dining table, hands folded too neatly. Mrs. Cory paced behind her, heels clicking in short, sharp lines. The house was already full—Edwin's brothers, cousins, uncles. A family that believed blood was leverage.
"This has to be handled properly," Mrs. Cory said. "No emotions. No scenes."
Nicky's mouth tightened. "They're already planning to corner him."
"That's why we do it first."
Phones buzzed. Chairs scraped. Voices layered into something sharp and expectant.
Mr. Edwin entered last.
The room stilled.
He took his seat at the head of the table without asking, eyes moving once over everyone present. He didn't smile.
Mrs. Cory cleared her throat. "We appreciate you all coming. This is about the future. About stability."
Edwin leaned back. "Say what you mean."
Nicky spoke then, voice calm but strained. "We think it's time things were made official. Brine has responsibilities. A name. A family legacy."
A murmur rippled through the room.
Edwin's gaze hardened. "You don't secure men like him with meetings."
Mrs. Cory's smile tightened. "With respect, Mr. Edwin, Brine has weaknesses. Attachments. He can be guided."
Edwin's hand came down on the table. Not hard—but final.
"You don't know him," he said. "And you never will."
Silence pressed in.
A phone rang.
Nicky answered. Her expression shifted. "He's on his way."
Minutes stretched. Whispers sharpened. The air grew heavy with expectation—and calculation.
When Brine finally arrived, he did not apologize.
He walked in like a man stepping into a battlefield he'd already mapped. Eyes cold. Presence absolute.
"Sorry I'm late," he said evenly his gaze drifting at Moody the moment he felt his presence. Moody just smiled giving him the same look. "I was dealing with something that actually matters."
The room bristled.
Edwin stood. For a moment, the two men faced each other—history passing between them like a loaded weapon.
"You should leave," Edwin told the room. "All of you."
Mrs. Cory opened her mouth.
Brine spoke first. "No. Let them hear."
He turned to Nicky. "Whatever you think this is—it isn't happening."
Her smile didn't falter. "You don't get to decide alone."
Edwin's voice cut through them both. "Yes. He does."
The family stared.
Brine didn't look away from Nicky. "Don't try to cage me," he said softly. "You won't like what breaks."
Outside, thunder rolled low across the city.
Inside, alliances cracked.
No one moved.
Not when Edwin spoke.
Not when Brine's words settled like a blade laid gently across the table.
Mrs. Cory was the first to recover. She had always been good at that—turning shock into strategy.
"You speak as if we're enemies," she said smoothly. "We're family. Everything discussed here is for your good, Brine."
Brine finally looked at her.
There was no heat in his gaze. No anger.
Just distance.
"For my good," he repeated. "You mean for control."
A cousin shifted uncomfortably. One of Edwin's brothers cleared his throat, then thought better of speaking. This was no longer a conversation—it was a standoff.
Nicky stood.
"I didn't ask for this to become a spectacle," she said, voice steady but tight. "I asked for commitment. You disappear. You don't explain. You don't reassure. You leave people guessing whether they matter to you at all."
Her eyes flicked—just for a second—to Edwin.
"And then you let him speak for you."
Edwin didn't flinch. "I'm not speaking for him. I'm stopping you from making a mistake."
Nicky's composure cracked. "A mistake? You think loving him is a mistake?"
Brine exhaled slowly.
"This isn't love," he said. "It's positioning."
The word hit harder than a shout.
Mrs. Cory's tone sharpened. "Careful."
"No," Brine replied. "I'm done being careful."
He stepped forward, hands resting on the back of a chair, posture relaxed—but the room felt smaller around him.
"You called this meeting because you think I can be pressured in front of blood," he continued. "Because you think my name, my work, my future can be negotiated like a merger."
Silence.
"I don't belong to this table."
Edwin's brother finally spoke. "You forget yourself. Everything you have—your reach, your protection—this family—"
Brine's eyes snapped to him.
"You confuse proximity with power," he said quietly. "Don't."
The man fell silent.
Nicky swallowed. "So what am I to you, Brine?"
That—
That was the question no one else had dared to ask.
Brine straightened. For the first time since entering the room, something real crossed his face. Not softness. Not cruelty.
Truth.
"You're someone I respected," he said. "Someone I warned—more than once—not to cross lines you didn't understand."
Her voice trembled despite herself. "There's someone else."
The room inhaled as one.
Edwin closed his eyes.
Brine didn't deny it.
"Yes."
Mrs. Cory laughed sharply. "So this is about a woman."
Brine's gaze hardened. "This is about choice."
"And she chose you?" Nicky asked bitterly.
Brine paused.
"Yes," he said. "And I chose her knowing exactly what it would cost."
Edwin opened his eyes then, sharp and furious—not at Brine, but at the room.
"You see?" he said. "You're playing games with men who don't get to play."
Mrs. Cory leaned forward. "You'll destroy your standing for her?"
Brine smiled faintly. Not kindly.
"I already did," he said. "You're just late to notice."
The thunder outside cracked—closer now.
Nicky's voice dropped. "If you walk out now, you burn bridges you can't rebuild."
Brine moved toward the door. "Some bridges are meant to be burned. They light the way out."
He stopped beside Edwin.
For a moment, nothing passed between them.
Then Edwin spoke, low enough only Brine could hear.
"Is she safe?"
Brine's jaw tightened. "For now."
Edwin nodded once. "Then go."
Brine left.
The door closed behind him with a sound that echoed longer than it should have.
No one spoke.
Finally, Mrs. Cory sat down heavily. "This isn't over."
Edwin turned to her, eyes cold, voice final.
"It is for you."
Outside, Brine stepped into the rain.
He didn't look back.
Moody never said anything but inside his head, he knew God hasn't done with him yet. Nicky will be his target against Brine. He smiled slowly staring at her.
Far across the city, in steel and shadow, Hellfire hummed—alive, alert.
And Lena stirred, as if the world itself had shifted again.