The crowd erupted into polite applause, a slow, unsettling rhythm that echoed off the marble walls like the tolling of bells at a funeral.
And I was the corpse.
I couldn’t look away. Not from the towering balcony above, where he sat, still, silent, unbothered. Unlike the others, he wasn’t clapping. He didn’t rise. He didn’t celebrate.
The overhead lights glared, but in the gaps of shifting shadow, I caught the faintest glint of ivory again, the curve of his mask. An elegant wolf carved from bone. His chin was set, lips unreadable. The rest of his face was hidden in dark velvet and impossible distance.
My skin prickled as my body was yanked backward.
The restraints hissed and clicked as they released in sequence. My limbs collapsed under me like broken scaffolding, and I crumpled to the floor... only to be seized by the masked handlers in red hoods and dragged off the stage like a product removed from display.
The last thing I saw before the doors shut behind me was the man in the ivory mask finally rising to his feet.
Two men seized me by the arms, their grips like iron cuffs. My feet barely skimmed the floor as they hauled me down a narrow corridor.
I thrashed, twisted, kicked — every ounce of panic fueling me, but it was like fighting against stone pillars. Their muscles were hard as bricks, unyielding, my struggles no more effective than the fluttering of a trapped bird.
I might as well have been a fucking feather.
"Let me go!" I tried to shout, but it came out muffled, strangled by the gag. The sound only earned me a tighter grip, my shoulders aching as they dragged me forward without pause.
The hallway stretched on forever, a silent tunnel of polished black marble and glowing veins of silver inlaid along the walls. Each step echoed, sharp and final, like the pounding of a war drum.
Then we stepped outside.
The air hit me first. It was cool and metallic, with the faint tang of oil and ozone. My breath caught as my gaze landed on the spectacle before me.
Rows upon rows of vehicles, an entire fleet sprawled across what could only be described as a private parking lot the size of a runway. Cars that looked less like transportation and more like weapons sculpted into art. Obsidian-black hoods gleamed under the pale moonlight. Chrome edges sparkled like knives. I counted at least fifty, maybe more, each one more monstrous and luxurious than the last.
And parked at the center of it all... was his.
It wasn’t just a car. It was an apex predator dressed in freaking metal. It was sleek, elongated, painted with midnight black that swallowed the light. Its insignia caught my eye: a wolf’s crown carved from silver. I didn’t recognize it but felt in my bones.
The back doors were already open. Waiting.
One of the handlers adjusted his grip and muttered under his breath, "Don’t make this harder than it has to be."
I glared, seething through the gag, every muscle in my body screaming in defiance. But my feet barely dragged against the asphalt, my body swinging between them like I weighed nothing at all.
When they stopped, my stomach twisted.
Someone was standing there. He was tall, broad, still as a statue, just by the open door.
They didn’t bother helping me in.
I stumbled forward, crashing into plush leather and shadowed luxury. The door slammed shut behind me with a hiss, sealing me into silence.
For a moment, I didn’t move.
It wrapped around me like a noose, heavy and suffocating, and I finally understood what prey must feel like when the forest goes silent.
Every instinct screamed.
And then slowly, I turned.
My eyes locked with his.
He sat in the far corner of the car, legs crossed, gloved hands resting lightly on his knees. The ivory mask was gone, discarded somewhere in the shadows.
Because no mask could ever match the face beneath it.
He looked like he’d been carved from ice and war, every line sharp, every feature aristocratic and cruelly composed. High cheekbones. Clean-cut jaw. A mouth set in perfect stillness.
Hair was platinum blond, slicked back with surgical precision, not a strand out of place. It caught the faint light in shards of silver and snow, gleaming like something forged, not grown. The color made him look ethereal... or otherworldly. Like he belonged to a different time. A colder one.
They were glacial blue. Pale, piercing, and terrifyingly unreadable. The kind of eyes that didn’t just see you but they peeled you open.
He didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. Just stared at me with the calm of someone who had no need to raise his voice to be heard.
He was beautiful in a way that hurt.
But devastating in the way a winter storm buries entire cities in silence.
I swallowed hard, my breath catching in my throat.
The car was moving now. The world outside blurred past dark windows, but I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
Like he was waiting for me to break. As if he knew I eventually would.
My words came out in a croak, unsteady as I felt. "Where are you taking me?"
Nothing, even as those cold eyes held mine.
"What do you want with me?" I asked. "Please..."
He cut me off by turning away.
My words died in my throat.
But the silence only made it worse. My heart was pounding now, louder than the engine.
I tried again. "You can’t just ignore me."
I slammed my palm against the seat. "Say something, what do you want from me!"
Still nothing. He just watched the road ahead like I wasn’t even there.
The smooth, manicured road away. The headlights cut through low fog curling along a narrow forest path.
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I pressed a hand to the glass, eyes wide. "This is the North Vale Lunar Path. Why are we—?"