Cassius kept his pace steady, though his nerves threatened to quicken his step. The streets of Sector 3 gleamed like an unattainable jewel beneath the golden morning sun, each building more immaculate than the last. The air was cleaner here, crisper, almost artificial in its purity. It made his skin itch in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant, but foreign. He walked alongside Arcturus Voltaire and a handful of Zeus Guild members, their presence a tangible weight of authority that only added to his unease.

This was Voltaire territory, after all, and Cassius had never been comfortable in the presence of power so raw and concentrated. Their destination increased his tension—the center of the Voltaire family estate, to meet one of the world’s most dangerous men.

Arcturus strode with his usual air of command, his dark blue cloak billowing slightly behind him. His frame was stoic, tall, and unyielding, each step deliberate as if he had already charted the entire course of their meeting. Cassius, though, couldn’t help but feel the mounting weight of what they were about to do. He had his orders—government orders—and they’d promised him full backing for his hunt of the Triads and Cinder Blaze, but something about this visit sat heavy on his conscience.

They were walking toward the Voltaire family home with purpose, and though Cassius had sworn to carry out the mission, a part of him wondered if it was all unnecessary. All this just to set the Voltaires in motion. The politics, the weight of power—it made him question if this was truly a righteous cause or just another piece of manipulation. Cassius glanced at Arcturus again, observing the man’s stoic determination. He envied it. There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation in his movements, no flicker of doubt across his chiseled face.

Cassius shifted his gaze to the skyline of Sector 3, the pinnacle of Havana’s luxury and wealth. He’d only ever seen these kinds of views in his most fevered dreams. When he started as a government enforcer at sixteen—an age unheard of for any Esper—he could never have imagined walking through such a pristine district. Back then, everything was bleak. His world had been nothing but broken-down shacks made from scavenged scraps. The Limbo was a wasteland, not just in terms of geography but in spirit. Nutripulp was their staple—synthetic, tasteless—but he had known far worse. The taste of monster meat still lingered in his nightmares, a grim reminder of the lengths they had to go to survive.

He clenched his jaw at the memory. Here, in Sector 5, everything was different. The people acted like nobles, flaunting their wealth and arrogance. Cassius could hardly blame them. After all, the minimum requirements to live here were astronomical. Not only did you need an obscene amount of money, but you had to possess C-rank Esper abilities, at the very least. With power like that, anyone could have joined a hunting guild and made a fortune of expeditions. But here they were, living in luxury, far away from the blood-soaked battlegrounds.

Cassius forced himself to focus on the path ahead, wiping the sweat from his brow. Despite the crisp air of Sector 5, his body was slick with an anxious sheen. He couldn’t shake the sense of dread gnawing at him. He was heading toward the Voltaire estate—a fortress of wealth and power—and though he had every reason to be there, he still felt like an outsider trespassing on sacred ground.

He glanced again toward Arcturus, whose posture remained resolute, and inwardly sighed. This was all unnecessary, he thought. But orders were orders. The government had promised him all the resources he needed to find The Triads and Cinder Blaze. And as much as he resented the cloak-and-dagger dealings, he knew that today’s mission could make or break his hunt. That was another reason he wanted to be here—to confirm the death of Sabir Quinn.

The thought made his stomach turn with guilt. Cassius hadn’t told Sabir about what happened to Mrs. Norris. He’d thought he was sparing him, keeping him from the full weight of that brutal truth. But now he wasn’t so sure. Maybe, if Sabir had known the truth, there would’ve been a chance for forgiveness. Now, it was too late. The Voltaires had likely killed him. The thought of Sabir’s cold, lifeless body being discarded like so much refuse gnawed at his conscience.

Still, he couldn’t turn back. Not now.

The Voltaire estate loomed ahead like a pristine fortress. The immaculate white walls stretched high above them, glistening in the sunlight. Cassius couldn’t help but be impressed. Even the exterior of the building spoke of power and wealth, each polished stone a testament to the family’s control over Havana’s elite. But once inside, his mouth nearly dropped open. If the outside was impressive, the interior was something else entirely. Chandeliers hung from vaulted ceilings, their crystals refracting light in dazzling patterns. The marble floors gleamed beneath their feet, and tapestries of gold and silver adorned the walls.

Cassius had never seen such opulence. Coming from The Limbo, where even the necessities were scarce, this was like stepping into another world. He followed the group as maids led them deeper into the estate, toward their destination: Alaric Voltaire’s office.

Arcturus glanced at one of the maids, his eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion. “Where’s Frederick? The head butler should be here to receive us. Surely, the Voltaire family doesn’t entrust such important guests to just anyone.”

The maid hesitated for a moment, her hands clasped tightly together. “Frederick... he went on a dungeon expedition, sir. He was sent to ensure Lady Elektra and Master Warren’s safety.”

Arcturus smirked. “Master Warren, huh?” He shook his head slightly, a hint of amusement playing across his features, but he said no more.

Finally, they arrived at a set of large, ornate doors. The maid bowed and opened them, revealing a grand office. Alaric Voltaire sat behind a massive oak desk, the room’s soft lighting casting long shadows over his stern face. In the corner, almost like a shadow himself, stood Noah Voltaire.

Cassius’s gaze locked with Noah’s for a split second, and something flickered between them. Recognition, maybe, or something darker. Cassius didn’t hate Noah—not personally—but the day Sabir was taken by him had left Cassius with a gnawing sense of inadequacy, a creeping doubt that he hadn’t done enough. He had failed. And in failing Sabir, he had failed the promise he made long ago.

Alaric’s voice cut through his thoughts, deep and authoritative. “Arcturus,” he said with a cordial nod, “how’s the family? I trust the Zeus Guild is doing well.”

Arcturus returned the nod, but his expression remained cold. “The family is fine. The guild is fine. We’re here on business.”

Alaric’s lips curved into a smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Business? Of course. I can welcome you into my home like family, Arcturus, but I must admit, I’m curious why you brought along a government rat.”

Cassius tensed, but he remained silent. Arcturus, however, didn’t flinch. He motioned to one of his men, who handed him a thick folder. Without a word, Arcturus tossed it onto Alaric’s desk, where it landed with a soft thud. The Voltaire patriarch glanced at it, but his smile never wavered.

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Arcturus’s voice was sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade. “We’re going to war.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of inevitability. Alaric’s smile faded, his gaze flicking between the folder and Arcturus, and then to Cassius, whose pulse thundered in his ears.

Alaric Voltaire’s fingers brushed over the edge of the folder Arcturus had thrown on his desk, his face unreadable as he opened it. The weight of the moment was heavy in the room, the tension thick like the storm clouds gathering outside. Cassius stood silently behind Arcturus, his eyes shifting between the two men. He could feel the raw power emanating from Alaric, even as the patriarch silently read through the documents inside the folder.

Alaric’s brow furrowed slightly, though he remained calm, flipping through the pages with practiced patience. Arcturus, however, didn’t wait for him to finish.

“You broke your oath,” Arcturus began, his voice like a crack of thunder, sharp and accusing. He folded his arms, his gaze burning into Alaric. “When you promised my daughter would marry your middle child, I expected you to honor that commitment. Instead, I find that your son has been spreading his seed, not just with any woman, but a whore. And now there’s a dirty bastard walking around with Voltaire blood.”

Alaric’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond immediately, his eyes still on the papers before him. Cassius watched closely, feeling like an intruder on a family secret, but he knew better than to interrupt.

Arcturus wasn’t finished. His voice lowered, becoming even more venomous. “A bastard worse than the one you sired with a maid. Do you think this is acceptable, Alaric? That the collaterals would just sit by and watch as your family stains the legacy we all uphold?”

Cassius felt his heart pound as he noticed something fall from the folder Alaric was holding. A small photograph slipped from the papers, tumbling to the floor. Cassius blinked, leaning slightly to get a better look. It was a picture of a little girl, her cyan hair unmistakable, and a wide, toothy grin plastered across her face. His breath caught in his throat.

Mia Quinn.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. Mia was a Voltaire bastard. Elektra had been after him because she thought he knew the truth—about Mia, about the Voltaire bloodline she carried, and perhaps even about her whereabouts. Everything started to click into place, a puzzle that had eluded him for too long. His mind raced as he pieced it all together. He glanced at Arcturus, the man’s fury still focused on Alaric, and Cassius couldn’t help but wonder how he had come into possession of this knowledge.

Thunder rumbled outside, and heavy rain lashed against the large windows of Alaric’s office. Lightning flashed in the distance, illuminating the room in brief bursts of light. Alaric, who had remained silent until this point, finally looked up from the documents. His eyes met Arcturus’s, cold and calculating, the anger beneath his calm demeanor barely concealed.

“And what are you going to do about it?” Alaric asked, his voice low and dangerous. It wasn’t a question of curiosity—it was a challenge.

Arcturus smirked slightly, shrugging as if the entire matter was beneath him. “You’re right,” he said slowly, “I can’t beat you alone. But we are strong in number, and I have the government’s full backing. We’re done playing nice, Alaric. You’ve crossed too many lines.”

Cassius cleared his throat, drawing their attention to him. “We’ve set the date,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady despite the storm brewing both inside and outside. “You are free to do battle ten kilometers east of your sector. The government is preparing the stage as we speak.”

Alaric’s gaze shifted to Cassius, and for a moment, the weight of it was nearly unbearable. The man was a legend, one of the strongest beings in the world. His reputation alone could have crushed someone like Cassius, but the reality of standing in the same room as him, delivering orders that could ignite a war, was something else entirely.

Without a word, Alaric stood from his desk and strode to the door, pulling it open with a single, fluid motion. The silent command was simple: leave.

Arcturus nodded once, almost smugly, and motioned for his men to follow. As they stepped through the door, Alaric’s voice called after them, cold and threatening. “You’re all going to die. Every single one of you.”

Arcturus didn’t even turn around, his smirk growing. “I think the odds are in our favor,” he said, his voice trailing off as he led his men out of the room.

Cassius hesitated, lingering behind as the rest of the group left. He felt a strange tug, a sense that something else needed to be said or done. Just as he turned to leave, Noah Voltaire stepped forward from the corner of the room, blocking his path.

“Have you ever heard of someone with no powers?” Noah began, his voice quiet, low enough for only Cassius to hear, but Cassius sensed a strange intensity in his tone.

“No powers, but stronger and faster than any run-of-the-mill hunter?” Noah’s eyes shook, which caused Cassius to squirm in discomfort.

Cassius stiffened, his mind racing back to the chaotic streets of The Commons, to the faces and names that had flickered through his memory. He had seen someone like that, someone who moved like a blur, who defied all logic—only for a split second. Someone who almost defeated a noble as a dud. He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry as he realized who Noah was referring to.

Noah’s eyes narrowed, his voice sharper now. “Tell me who.”

Cassius hesitated, his mind screaming at him not to say anything. But before he could stop himself, the name slipped from his lips. “Sabir Quinn.”

Noah’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes, something dark. “Give me another name. There must be others,” Noah said coldly. “Tell me now.”

“Where is he?” asked Cassius, ignoring Noah’s orders.

“Who? Oh that rat Sabir. He’s dead. Out in a dungeon expedition, as a dud, he’ll be lucky to last a day…But that other rat. He’ll live for sure.”

Cassius’s fists clenched, his anger rising like bile in his throat. Sabir was dead. He had failed again. A surge of guilt and self-loathing coursed through him, but he forced himself to keep his composure. He couldn’t lose it, not here, not now.

Noah stepped aside, allowing Cassius a clear path to the door. “Well then,” Noah said, his voice almost a whisper, “have you seen anyone else like that?”

Cassius froze for a moment, his mind flashing to another figure, someone equally enigmatic, but more terrifying. Rafael Mendoza of The Triads. A man who defied all expectations, who moved like an Esper but didn’t exhibit any traditional powers. Cassius had never understood what abilities Mendoza possessed. No one did. Every report and every man could never pinpoint his true abilities. But it didn’t matter. The man was dangerous, beyond anything Cassius had encountered before.

Cassius opened his mouth to speak, to tell Noah about Mendoza, but something stopped him. Instead, he turned on his heel and left the room without another word.

As the door closed behind him, the storm outside intensified, the rain pelting down like bullets against the windows. Cassius’s heart raced as he walked down the hallway, his mind replaying the last few minutes repeatedly.

Inside the office, Noah and Alaric remained. The silence between them was palpable, the tension thick. War was on the horizon, and both men knew it. Whatever truce had once existed between the great families of Havana was about to be shattered, and when it did, there would be no going back.

Noah’s gaze wavered, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his usually composed expression, as if the weight of unanswered questions gnawed at his mind. Meanwhile, Alaric’s fury was no longer hidden beneath the surface; it seethed like a caged beast, rippling through the air, waiting for the right moment to break free and wreak havoc. The storm outside was nothing compared to the tempest brewing in the room, a silent prelude to the war that would soon engulf them all.

The war wasn’t just coming—it had already begun.