The rain in London always tasted of old iron and ancient secrets.
After settling the "shares transfer" with my uncle Silas, Darius and I didn't rest. An invitation, sealed with the gold wax of the Shadow Council, had been pinned to the gates of the Vance Estate with a bloody stiletto.
"The High Priestess, Vivienne, has invited us for afternoon tea at a private club in St. James," I said, leaning into Darius's chest as our armored Bentley glided through the fog. I had changed into a minimalist black haute-couture trench coat, a sleek belt accentuating my waist, and my sharpest scalpel hidden in my boot.
"Afternoon tea?" Darius scoffed, checking the hidden blade in his cuff—a gift he'd prepared specifically for London's "gentlemen." "In my world, an invitation like this usually means fifty snipers are waiting in the rafters."
"In London, it's the same," I added dryly. "Except here, the snipers wear tuxedos and tip their hats before pulling the trigger."
When we entered the three-hundred-year-old private club, the air was thick with the scent of expensive cigars and Earl Grey tea.
Vivienne sat at a round table draped in white lace, elegantly stirring her cup. Surrounding her were the pillars of London's establishment—a high-court judge, the Commissioner of Police, and a couple of hereditary Earls.
"Elara, you finally arrived," Vivienne looked up, her eyes glinting with serpentine coldness. "Sitting before you are the foundations of British law and order. Your actions in Paris have crossed a line that cannot be ignored."
An old judge pushed up his spectacles, his voice booming with feigned authority. "Miss Vance, we have evidence of international money laundering and terrorism. If you surrender the overseas keys to the Vance Empire and cooperate with our 'investigation' into Mr. Blackwood, perhaps you might keep your life."
I didn't sit. Instead, I walked to the table and picked up a delicate scone, crushing it slowly between my fingers.
"Law? Evidence?" I tilted my head, looking at the judge. "Judge, do you mean that twenty-million-pound 'anonymous donation' to your Cayman account last year? Or perhaps the Police Commissioner's illegal use of unreleased longevity serums from my private hospital?"
Dead silence.
The faces of the powerful men turned ashen.
"How... how do you know that?" the Commissioner stammered.
"I am the Living Yama. I control the world's elite medical resources and capital flow," I leaned in, staring into Vivienne's eyes. "The moment you begged me to save your lives, you sold your souls to the Vance Empire. You want to talk about the law? I am the one who writes the rules of your survival."
"It seems your 'Shield of Order' is a bit rusty, Priestess," Darius said, strolling behind an Earl and resting a heavy hand on the man's shoulder. The Earl nearly fell out of his chair in terror.
"Elara, you are far too arrogant!" Vivienne stood up, stepping back. "Did you think I only brought these old men? The Council's Executioners are already here!"
Just then, the heavy carved doors opened again.
A man in a charcoal overcoat and silver-rimmed glasses walked in. He looked like a university professor—warm, intellectual—but the moment he appeared, my hand tightened on the scalpel in my boot.
"It has been a long time, my most brilliant student, Elara."
His voice was like velvet, but it sent a chill down my spine.
He was the former Dean of Oxford Medical School. The man who taught me how to use a scalpel to slice through the most hidden nerves of the human body. My mentor—Dr. Alistair.
"Professor?" my pupils constricted.
"Or perhaps you should call me the High Inquisitor of the Shadow Council," Alistair pushed up his glasses with a hauntingly kind smile. "I am glad you became the Living Yama. Only a perfect prey is worth my personal harvest."
Darius sensed my reaction instantly. He blurred into motion, standing between me and Alistair, his gun aimed directly at the professor's forehead.
"Old man," Darius's voice was pure lethality. "Stay away from my wife, or I will show you what a 'harvest' really looks like."
Alistair remained unfazed, looking at Darius as if he were a perfect lab specimen.
"Mr. Blackwood, violence is meaningless in the face of genius. Elara, have you forgotten the first lesson I taught you? Never let your heart become your weakness."
He snapped his fingers.
Suddenly, the lights in the club cut out. Dozens of red laser dots appeared, swarming over my chest and Darius's heart.