Lyra's POV
The apartment was quiet. The kind of quiet that usually meant the triplets were up to something. Biometric monitors on my wrist confirmed they were asleep.
Kitchen island. Single holographic screen hovering above the marble. Blue light in the darkness.
Target: Dragon's Blood Serum.
Location: Obsidian Gala. Private Auction. Lot 1.
Host: Damon Storm.
"Of course," I whispered. Rubbing my temples. "Him."
The serum. Only thing that could stabilize my father's condition. The "G-Virus" he had been injected with five years ago was slowly eating his neural pathways. Dragon's Blood wasn't a cure. Pause button. Expensive pause button.
And the only vial in existence was sitting in Damon's vault. Waiting to be sold. Highest bidder. Three days.
Checked my bank accounts. The Starfire funds were vast. But Damon Storm was richer. God-tier rich. If I tried to outbid him—or his cronies—I'd drain our operational budget for the next decade.
"Steal it," I muttered.
But the Obsidian Gala wasn't a grocery store. Fortress. Retinal scans. DNA verification. Force field generated by Silver-Tech dampeners. Even I couldn't shadow-walk through that without an invite.
Needed a Trojan Horse.
Needed to be a seller.
Stood up. Walked to the wall safe hidden behind a painting of a very ugly duck (Aries's art project). Keyed in the code.
Click. Hiss.
Safe opened. Inside, nestled on black velvet. A gun.
Not modern. Masterpiece of lethal art. Custom Desert Eagle. Barrel elongated. Grip inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Single, blood-red ruby.
The Widowmaker.
Fingers traced the cold metal.
Six years ago. The night I "tamed" the beast. This was the gun I held to Damon's head.
Flashback.
"Shoot me," the feral Damon had growled. Chest pressing against the barrel. "End it."
"No," I had whispered. Lowering the gun. "Not here to end you. Here to rule you."
He gave me the gun the next morning. Token of submission. Promise.
"Only thing he'll recognize," I said to the empty room.
Risk. Massive. If he saw this gun, he would know the "Shadow Lord"—my alias—had a connection to his past.
But it was the only item valuable enough to get me a last-minute VIP seller pass.
Pulled out a cleaning cloth. Began to polish the silver.
"Sorry, old friend," I murmured. Wiping away a speck of dust. "Need his medicine more than his memory."
Pulled up the auction submission form. Screen flickered.
Item Name: The Widowmaker.
Seller: Anonymous.
Reserve Price: One Billion.
Hit send.
"Use his money to buy his medicine," I smirked. Chest felt tight. "Fair trade."
Damon's POV
Air in the boardroom was stale.
"Profits in the Asian sector are down 2%," a nervous executive droned on. Pointing at a graph. "Recent werewolf unrest in the South—"
"Boring."
Didn't shout. Didn't have to. Word cut through the room. Guillotine blade.
Executive shut his mouth. Sat down.
"Elias." Spun my chair around. City skyline. "Tell me something interesting. Or everyone here is fired."
Elias stepped forward. Tablet. "Catalog for the Obsidian Gala is finalized, Sir. However..."
"However?"
"Received a late submission. Five minutes ago. Bypassed the vetting queue. Nature of the item."
Frowned. "What nature?"
"System flagged it as a Class-S relic. Origin: The Storm Family."
Spun the chair back around. "What?"
Elias handed me the tablet. Hand shaking slightly.
Looked at the screen.
Photo was high-resolution. Lighting dramatic.
But didn't need the lighting. Curve of the barrel. Mother-of-pearl grip. Ruby. I had personally pried it from a crown to set into the metal.
The Widowmaker.
The gun I gave Her.
Room vanished. Terrified executives vanished.
All I saw was that gun.
Last time I saw it... in her hand. The night she disappeared. Night the dungeon burned. Woke up alone. Nothing but a scar. Ghost.
Thought it was melted. Lost in the fire.
"She's back," I whispered.
Sound so low. Broken. Elias hesitated. "Sir?"
"Who is the seller?" Demanded. Voice rising. Alpha tone bleeding in. Glass of water on the table cracked. Spiderweb fracture.
"Anonymous, Sir. IP routes through a dozen proxy servers. Dark Web. But the drop-off location for physical verification... Central Vaults. Tomorrow."
Stood up. Heavy oak chair flew backward. Smashed against the wall.
Twelve executives scrambled under the table.
"Seal the gala," I ordered. "No one enters or leaves without a DNA scan. No masks. No proxies."
"But Sir," Elias stammered. "Guests... privacy policies..."
"Use the Silver-Tech override. I don't care about privacy!" Roared. Eyes burning gold. "She is selling it. Cutting ties. Thinks she can just... sell us?"
Looked at the photo again.
Use his money. That's what she would do. Always practical. Ruthless.
"Accept the lot," I said. Smoothing my suit jacket. Hands trembling. "Give the seller the highest clearance invite. V-VIP box."
"Want to... invite them?"
"Want her to come to me," I snarled softly. "Want her to walk into my house. Think she's winning. Realize she just walked into a cage."
Picked up the tablet. Touched the image of the gun. The cold glass.
Kept it for six years, Lyra? Why sell it now?
Desperate? Or just cruel?
"Prepare the helicopter," I told Elias. "Need to inspect the security personally. If a fly gets in without me knowing, heads will roll."
"Yes, Alpha."
Elias ran out. Executives fled.
Stood alone in the silence.
"You're alive," I said to the empty air.
Confirmation hit me. Physical blow. Not just a hope. Not just a suspicious neighbor with gold-eyed kids.
This gun was proof.
"Come get your money, little wolf," I smiled. Terrifying thing. "I'll be waiting."