Craige/Killan POV
We took a taxi, the rattling vehicle carrying us through the streets toward that old man's mansion. I couldn't guarantee success—not with this face, not with my appearance. A man like him wouldn't be convinced by words alone. No, I'd need to show him proof.
"Who's going to help us?" my companion asked, his voice sharp with fear. "Don't tell me you're going to the police. That's not going to work."
I turned my eyes on him, a smirk tugging at my lips while my gaze drifted back to the window. "It's someone else. Someone I can reach when I'm at my lowest. He's always admired me, wanted to be my underdog. Too bad, back then, I was too powerful to need anyone."
He stared at me like I'd gone mad, as if I were speaking like some kind of god. "I don't know what you're talking about, but—are you forgetting something? Jake's dad will kill us!"
I waved a hand dismissively in front of his face. "Yeah, I know. And that's why this old man will bury Jake's father's pride deep in the ground."
His eyes widened. "What!? Why are you talking like you're all-powerful when you're like this?"
I chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. "It's because I am."
The taxi jerked to a stop. We climbed out, and in front of us loomed a mansion—grand, shadowed by thick iron gates. A smaller house stood beside it: the security post. A bulky guard stepped forward, sizing us up.
I approached with a calm face. "Hello. Can I see Mr. Hover?"
The guard frowned, confused, then shoved me back. Bad move. My hand snapped out, seizing his arm. With a twist, I bent his finger until a sharp crack echoed.
"AHHHH!" He screamed, staggering back.
"Fuck, Killan! What are you doing?" the nerd beside me panicked, eyes wide. He sounded like he might faint, but I didn't care. I caught another finger and twisted. Another crack. Another scream.
In seconds, the other guards raised their weapons. Cold steel barrels gleamed under the sun.
"Oh god!" my companion whimpered, pressing behind me. "You brought us here to get killed!"
"Relax," I muttered. "They won't shoot. Not unless their master orders it."
I stepped forward slowly, hands raised.
"Stop!" one of the guards barked.
I grinned, loosening my grip on my companion's sleeve. "Tell your boss that Sun wants to see him."
Confusion flickered across their faces. Their hesitation stretched, broken only when a voice carried across the courtyard. A wheelchair rolled forward, and the guards immediately bowed their heads.
"Boss!" they called out.
And there he was—the cunning old man himself. His sharp eyes narrowed as they settled on me, confusion stirring beneath the calm.
"Davnenko ne videlis, moi drug," I said in Russian.
His face froze. Shock rippled through him. I was the only one alive who knew that tongue was his true origin.
"Craige?" he whispered.
I nodded.
He wheeled closer, disbelief written across his wrinkled face. "How—"
His butler rushed behind, but the old man raised a hand, halting him. His focus never left me.
"We need to talk. Now."
And the strange thing? He didn't question it. He didn't doubt. His trust in me was absolute, dangerous in its blindness.
Foolish old man. What if someone else had claimed to be me?
Yet he smiled, happy—almost relieved—at my return.
*****
Nerdy POV
I was too speechless to speak. How in the world did Killan know this man?
When we stepped inside the mansion, my breath caught. My eyes darted to the corner, and I nearly screamed. A lion. A freaking taxidermy lion, its glass eyes gleaming as if ready to pounce. The walls glimmered with white and gold, everything radiating wealth and power.
How? How could someone like Killan know a person like this? His family was poor. He had no wealthy relatives. Nothing in his life connected to this kind of world.
And yet… the old man spoke to him like they'd known each other for years.
I clenched my fists. The Killan I knew wasn't like this. I remembered him as the boy who was bullied so badly he nearly broke. The boy who once tried to end his own life. That miserable, fragile Killan.
But this version of him? This wasn't the same person. It was like someone else had taken his body. Don't tell me—no, that was insane—don't tell me someone powerful possessed him.
I slapped my cheeks lightly, trying to bring myself back to reality. "Too much fantasy reading," I muttered.
Inside, we were guided into a massive room, the kind you only saw in movies. We sank into a soft sofa while maids appeared with trays of tea and desserts. I smiled nervously at one of them, but her face was blank, empty—like a robot.
The old man's gravelly voice broke the silence. "Oh, I forgot to tell you," he said almost playfully. "All of my maids here are assassins."
I almost sprayed tea all over the table. My head snapped toward them, heart pounding in my chest. Assassins!? That meant if I made one wrong move, my head could literally roll on the floor.
The old man chuckled. "Don't worry. They only attack when someone seems suspicious."
I forced a weak smile and reached for the cake, hoping food would calm my nerves. But before my hand touched it, Killan spoke—his words sharp, commanding.
"I don't want to waste any time. I need your help."
The old man laughed, a deep, unsettling sound that rolled into something close to madness. Then his expression shifted, transforming into something terrifying.
"Sure," he said. "Who's the insect that dares to pester you?"
Killan smirked. "A politician. Name's Caesar Thompson. His son is Jake—the one who messed with my loved one."
The old man paused, eyes narrowing like a hawk locking onto prey. "Your loved one?" he asked carefully.
Killan turned his gaze toward me, and I almost flinched when our eyes met. "My siblings."
The old man leaned back, nodding slowly as if he'd pieced together some hidden puzzle. I didn't understand their bond, their history—but he clearly did.
"I'll handle that man," the old man muttered. "Caesar… that name feels familiar."
Later, we left the mansion, the butler rolling the old man in his wheelchair. "It's nice to meet you again," the old man said, his thin smile carrying both warmth and danger. "I hope you can visit me again."
Killan paused, his voice cool and certain. "Of course. I'll be using you from now on."
My jaw nearly hit the floor. Using him? Who was this Killan?
The butler insisted on bringing us back to school, and Killan agreed. Several others followed in another car, escorting us like some kind of royal convoy.
As we rode, Killan spoke, his tone disturbingly casual. "He is one of my loyal companions. There are also four others. Actually, that man is the weakest among them."
I stared at him, mind spinning. Loyal companions? The weakest among them? Killan was a stranger now.
But I forced myself to breathe. Whatever he had become, however terrifying his change… one thing mattered most.
We weren't going to die at Jake's father's hands.