Damian wasn't the type to sit around and let people spit on him.
His parents hadn't raised him to be a pussy. Especially not his father.
Be brave. Be courageous. Be fearless.
That's what they'd drilled into him. When your profession involved dangerous stunts—guillotines, escape tanks, electricity—you couldn't afford hesitation. Hesitation meant your head rolled for real instead of the prop.
So no. Damian didn't tolerate people looking down on him.
He wasn't a saint. Wasn't an angel. Wasn't a devil either.
Somewhere in between, probably.
But he liked teaching assholes a lesson. Especially when they deserved it.
The satisfaction never got old.
He stepped out of the carriage in front of a mansion that made his office look like a storage closet.
The charioteer sidled up immediately, rubbing his hands together. Grinning. Too many missing teeth for that grin to look trustworthy.
"This Miss Myra, she's quite the big shot, isn't she?" His eyes gleamed. "They must be paying you well. Very well." More hand-rubbing. Faster now. "So about the fare... Usually 45 RU, but we went further than expected, past the gate and all, so... 65. No—70 RU should cover it."
Damian turned to look at him.
According to his memories, 45 RU was the standard rate. This bastard was trying to squeeze an extra 25 out of him.
Shameless.
The amount of greed didn't match the number of teeth left in his mouth.
Damian smiled.
The charioteer's eyes lit up like he'd struck gold.
"Here you go." Damian counted out the coins carefully and placed them in the man's palm.
He turned and walked toward the mansion without looking back.
"Haha! Thank you, young man! You're very gener—" The charioteer paused. Coin clinking sounds. "Wait. This is only 35 RU!"
Damian didn't turn around.
"Hey! HEY! You shorted me!"
He kept walking. The gate opened. The charioteer's protests faded behind him.
Fair price was 45. You wanted 70. So I gave you 35.
Simple math.
The guard at the gate recognized him. Asked about his identity and purpose as protocol demanded, then waved him through.
The Valeraine family had hired him before. Multiple times. The guards and maids knew his face. They didn't bother him as he crossed the grounds toward the main hall.
The giant doors stood open.
Inside, Myra sat at the head of a long table.
Alone.
The Valeraine family. One of the most influential in River Cross City. Power that even other families respected. But compared to the others, the Valeraines only had two members.
Myra and her brother.
That's why Damian knew how important the boy was. But he also knew the importance of not messing with the wrong people. He knew Myra's temper—she'd do anything to get her brother back. But she was the head of the Valeraine family. If anything happened to her, the balance in River Cross City would break.
He wouldn't be surprised if she already knew the truth by now.
As he entered the room, Myra looked up.
Cold eyes.
In her hands was a newspaper. Damian's mind automatically pieced together all the information on it—snippets, small words that should be impossible to read from this angle. But Damian could see them clearly, as if the newspaper was right in front of him.
He'd already read this article this morning. Photographic memory made recalling every word effortless.
If I'd had this ability back on Earth... I might've landed a high-paying job.
He sighed internally.
"You came," Myra said coldly.
"Yes." Damian didn't sit. Didn't move closer to the table. This wasn't his mansion. He didn't have the luxury to be casual. "Because there's something you need to know. But from the looks of it... you already know."
"Yes." Myra threw the newspaper onto the table.
Giant letters screamed from the front page in bold print:
THE DISAPPEARANCE OF LERON VALERAINE - POSSIBLE KIDNAPPING?
The article claimed it was speculation. Theory. Based on recent activity.
But Myra and Damian both knew better.
The Ashen Hand. The only mafia governing this city from the shadows. They didn't like their "achievements" remaining unknown. They wanted recognition. Attention. Fear spreading through every street and alley.
Spreading rumors that weren't actually rumors—that was one of their methods.
And targeting one of the most influential families in River Cross City? That definitely deserved recognition.
It also meant one thing: the Valeraines had done something that made them targets.
Damian Void hadn't asked why. He kind of already knew, but didn't have proof yet. There were lines he didn't want to cross. Meddling in family matters instead of minding his own business and staying in his corner—that was one of them.
"I see..." Myra glanced at Damian with a smirk before shaking her head. "Nothing can be done, right? That's why you never bothered telling me anything. Damian... oh, Damian..."
The atmosphere in the room shifted. Heavy. Oppressive.
Damian saw something in Myra's eyes that hadn't been there this morning.
Hopelessness.
Acceptance.
"Oh, nothing can be done..." Myra's voice cracked. Tears began sliding down her face. "Then why are you here?"
Damian paused.
Looked at her. Really looked.
At the tears. At the broken hope in her eyes. At the newspaper announcing her brother's fate like it was just another piece of gossip.
There was no turning back now.
"I'm here because..." He took a breath. "I'm here to get him back."
Silence.
Myra stared at him.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Then her expression shifted. Disbelief. Confusion. Something that might have been hope desperately trying not to exist.
"What?" Her voice barely rose above a whisper.
"Your brother. Leron." Damian met her eyes. Held them. "I'm going to get him back."
"You—" She stood abruptly. The chair scraped against marble. "You can't. The Ashen Hand will kill you. They'll kill both of us. This isn't—you can't—"
"I know."
"Then why—"
"Because it needs to be done." Damian shrugged. Tried to look casual. Like he wasn't proposing suicide. "And someone has to do it."
"This is suicide."
"Probably."
"You'll die."
"Maybe." He paused. "But doing nothing? Letting a ten-year-old get trafficked because everyone's too scared? That's not something I can live with."
Myra's hands trembled. "Damian, you're talking about going against the entire—"
"I know what I'm going against." He cut her off gently. "The Ashen Hand is moving your brother tonight. Shipment out of the city. Once he's gone, he's gone forever. So we have until tonight to figure out how to stop them."
"We?"
"If you're willing." Damian watched her carefully. "The odds are bad. Really bad. We'll probably die trying."
He let that sink in.
"But I can't just let this happen. I won't stand by and watch while another thing slips away that I could've stopped."
The admission came out quieter than he intended.
Myra stared at him like she was seeing him for the first time.
"So yeah," Damian continued. "We're getting your brother back. Tonight. Before that shipment leaves. And we're probably going to die in the process."
Silence stretched between them.
Then Myra laughed.
Quiet at first. Then louder. Bordering on hysterical.
"You're insane," she said, wiping her eyes. Still crying. But different now. "You're absolutely insane."
"Yeah. Probably."
"This won't work."
"Probably not."
"We're going to die."
"Most likely."
She looked at him. Searching for something in his expression.
Then she smiled.
Small. Fragile. But real.
"When do we start?"
Damian grinned.
"Right now."