Prologue
Prologue
The Tenth Winter
The sound came every morning.
A heavy lock.
Steel scraping against steel.
Then the dull, measured slide of a deadbolt.
Dex never counted the days anymore.
He counted the locks.
Ten years had reduced time into sounds. The whisper of winter against the windows. The footsteps in the corridor. The click of porcelain placed outside his door every morning at precisely seven. Somewhere along the years, calendars had become meaningless.
He stood before the enormous window that overlooked nothing but snow.
The estate stretched for acres beyond the glass. Pines bent beneath fresh snowfall. Iron fences disappeared into the white horizon, swallowed by forests so dense they looked capable of devouring the world itself.
Beautiful.
Empty.
Impossible to escape.
The bedroom behind him was larger than the apartment his family had once kept in Moscow. Books lined one wall. A grand piano occupied another. A fireplace burned quietly despite the spring calendar that probably existed somewhere beyond the estate.
Luxury had always been Emrex's preferred method of imprisonment.
No chains.
No bruises.
Nothing that could be photographed and condemned.
Just silence.
The door opened.
Dex didn't move.
"You missed breakfast."
The voice hadn't changed.
Calm.
Even.
As though they were discussing the weather instead of ten stolen years.
Dex rested one palm against the cold window.
"I wasn't hungry."
Behind him, footsteps crossed the room.
Measured.
Unhurried.
Never threatening.
Emrex stopped several feet away.
"The tailor came."
Silence.
"He'll return tomorrow."
Dex watched another gust of snow race across the grounds.
"I don't remember asking for one."
"You didn't."
A corner of Dex's mouth twitched.
Not into a smile.
Into something sharper.
"You still enjoy pretending this is my home."
No answer.
Only the soft rustle of fabric.
Curiosity finally pulled Dex away from the window.
Emrex stood beside the open wardrobe.
Rows upon rows of suits hung inside.
Black.
Charcoal.
Navy.
Every single one tailored to Dex.
Every season they were replaced.
Every year the sizes changed.
Someone had noticed when his shoulders broadened.
Someone had remembered when he preferred narrower lapels.
Someone had built an entire wardrobe for a man who was never allowed beyond the front gate.
Emrex adjusted the sleeve of a navy jacket by a fraction.
"The blue suits you."
Dex stared.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then, quietly,
"I've been your prisoner for ten years."
"I know."
"You erased me."
"I know."
"My family thinks I'm dead."
A pause.
"...I know."
Each answer landed with the same unbearable calmness.
No excuses.
No denial.
No apology.
Only acknowledgment.
Dex felt anger rising like fire beneath his ribs.
"Then tell me why."
Emrex's hand remained resting on the wardrobe door.
His shoulders became impossibly still.
Outside, the wind rattled the windows.
Inside, the silence stretched until it almost became painful.
Finally...
"There will be guests tonight."
Dex laughed once.
A dry, humorless sound.
"I asked why."
"The tailor will return in the morning."
"I don't care."
"There will be dinner at eight."
Dex took a step forward.
Another.
Until only a narrow space separated them.
"What are you afraid of?"
Emrex met his eyes.
Nothing in his expression moved.
Yet something flickered behind those dark irises.
Gone before Dex could name it.
"I'll see you tonight."
He turned.
Walked toward the door.
Dex watched him reach the threshold.
"Emrex."
The other man stopped.
"If I ever find a way out..."
His voice had become dangerously quiet.
"...I'll burn your empire to the ground."
Another silence.
Then Emrex nodded once.
"I know."
The door closed.
Steel slid back into place.
Click.
The lock echoed through the room.
Dex stood motionless.
His gaze drifted to the untouched wardrobe.
Blue.
Always blue.
A memory stirred somewhere deep inside him.
Not a complete memory.
Only fragments.
Snow falling over a frozen river.
Two boys no older than sixteen.
One of them laughing.
"Blue looks terrible on you."
"Liar."
"Black makes you look dangerous."
"I am dangerous."
A burst of laughter.
Gone.
The memory vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
Dex closed the wardrobe with unnecessary force.
The sound echoed through the room.
He hated this house.
He hated the silence.
He hated the polished floors.
The expensive books.
The perfectly prepared meals.
The man who knew exactly how he took his tea after ten years.
Most of all...
He hated that after a decade...
He still didn't understand why he was here.
Outside, snow continued to fall over the isolated estate.
Far below, servants hurried through the halls, preparing for a celebration.
A wedding.
An alliance.
Another chapter in the history of the Red Crimson Syndicate.
And somewhere beneath the same roof...
The heir of the Black Vesper Syndicate remained a ghost the world had buried ten winters ago.
Only one man knew he was still alive.
And that man had never once explained why.
