Page 102 of Veil of Dust

Blood trails like paint across the floor. Books burn in the far corner. A shattered goblet lies in a pool of dark wine that could pass for more blood.

The walls tremble with heat and collapse.

I turn toward the door, but stop short.

There, in the corner—

A small safe.

Unscorched.

I walk over. Pry it open with the point of my blade.

Inside: a stack of files, bound in leather cord. A sealed envelope. And a photograph.

My fingers freeze.

It’s Leon.

Younger. Smiling. Standing next to me, arm around my shoulder.

We’re in the bar—before it was mine. Before he was dead.

Before everything.

My throat tightens.

I pocket the photo.

The files—I skim the labels. Dates. Contracts. Payouts. Blackmail folders. Names.

All the Order’s dirt. All the power that let men like the Elder stay in charge for decades.

It’s mine now.

I don’t hesitate.

I take it all.

Fire licks the ceiling now.

I walk back to the throne. Look at it one last time.

I don’t sit.

That seat means control. Domination.

I don’t need it.

The Order falls without me ever wearing its crown.

I leave it behind.

Let the flames eat it.

I step out into the corridor as the ceiling collapses behind me.

The walls scream.

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