Both bikes reached the Twilight Zone and smoothly stopped at the entrance.
Donovan kept his helmet on for a moment longer. His eyes lifted to the third floor, to the window above where the entrance door was. Then he turned to the rider beside him and removed his helmet.
The second biker did the same, pulling his helmet off slowly.
He had an attractive face—long hair combed back neatly to his shoulders, not a strand out of place. His eyes were fluorescent brown, sharp and strangely bright in the low light.
Two tall men walked out from the entrance.Both were dressed in black suits and stood over six foot five. Their builds were large and solid like men trained more for war than security. They took the helmets from both riders without speaking and returned to stand silently near the door.
"Raynor," Donovan said, giving a light nod.
"Donovan," Raynor replied with a nod of his own.
They always began with names. It was a habit they had kept for years—one neither of them ever broke.
"It was good riding with you," Raynor said. One corner of his mouth lifted slightly.
"I was expecting a race," Donovan replied. "You disappointed me."
Both men got off their bikes at the same time. Donovan swung his leg over, his coat brushing behind him as he stood tall. Raynor followed, stepping down with the smooth, balanced ease of someone used to speed and presence. They walked side by side, heading toward the stairs.
"Did you complete the sentences they gave you?" Raynor asked.
"I did," Donovan said.
"I was hoping to get some people in Valdor. It's unfortunate their family didn't agree."
Donovan turned slightly toward him but kept walking.
"Should I be checking my office for listening devices?"
Raynor didn't stop walking. His voice was calm when he answered.
"My hearing is sharp enough to catch what's being said inside the White House."
He smiled that quiet, knowing smile. The one only he could wear like a signature.
They reached the third-floor landing.
Raynor spoke again. "How is Liora doing?"
Donovan didn't look at him. His eyes stayed on the hallway ahead. "If you were that concerned, you should havecome to visither. You and Lady Shaskia."
"I wish I had," Raynor said. His voice sounded distant like something inside him had already drifted elsewhere.
At the top of the stairs, Donovan turned to his left. The black door stood at the end of the corridor. He stared at it for a moment, lost in thought.
"Lady in the black dress spoke to those nine men during interrogation," he said. Then he turned to face Raynor. They looked at each other, eye to eye.
Raynor had that usual look on his face—charming, always smiling, butthere was something elsebehind it. Something sharper.
"And?" Raynor asked. His eyes narrowed for a second before he relaxed his expression again.
"They said the moment the door opened, there was a gust of air," Donovan said. "Not strong. But cold...Like something breathing out from the dark."
Raynor watched him, silent.
"Then it dropped on them," Donovan continued. "Heavy, coarse, One by one." He hesitated before proceeding as if attempting to sense their emotions. "They said it felt like a python, thick and thirty kilograms, maybe more. They felt the weight hit their shoulders first—like someone dropped a sandbag from behind. Then it moved."
Donovan's eyes stayed on the black door, but his voice slowed as if recalling the words exactly.
"They could feel the skin of it… dry, rough, sliding against their necks. The pressure wasn't fast—it tightened slowly like it was tasting their fear."
Raynor said nothing.
"The sound it made wasn't a hiss," Donovan added. "It was softer. A drag like rope sliding over wet stone. They were too scared to scream. Their bodies stopped working. One of them said he could hear the others breathing fast, but no one moved. Not even an inch."
Raynor's hand, still at his side, had curled slightly into a fist. He listened without interrupting.
Donovan didn't show any reaction. His voice remained steady like he was reading from a report.
"Did you know anything about the door?" Donovan asked.
Raynor slowly shook his head. "No. I only found out yesterday that there even 'Was' a hidden door on the third floor." He thought for a second before asking, "You and Liora were inside. What was there?"
Donovan didn't answer. He just looked at the door again.
"We can look together," he said as he walked forward. Raynor followed, but something in his steps had changed—hesitation, subtle but there.
Donovan reached the black door and opened it without pausing. The hinges made no sound. He stepped inside, the air colder on the other side.
When he turned back, Raynor was still standing at the threshold, just outside the doorway, which made Donovan frown. "What are you waiting for?"
Raynor didn't move. "I think it's better if I stay here," he said calmly. "You saw what happened. My men vomited blood after they entered. I would rather not experience that again."
Donovan said nothing, but his brow furrowed slightly. He didn't believe in myths. But sometimes Raynor's behaviour....how serious he became around things no one else took seriously—made him wonder. The city of Valtham was full of strange stories, andRaynor, for all his charm, sometimes acted like they were all true.
'Which is impossible,' Donovan told himself.
He turned back and walked. The moment he got close, the door opened on its own.
Raynor's eyes widened. His body moved as if to follow—but something held him back. He stayed where he was, eyes fixed on the open door and the man who stepped through it. And then Donovan disappeared from view.
Raynor reached into his coat pocket and made a quick call. His voice was low, steady.
"I'll need you later. It's your area of expertise." He ended the call without waiting for a reply.
Inside the room, Donovan felt it again. The familiar warmth.
It wasn't hot. It felt like the kind of warmth that wrapped around the chest during quiet moments like happiness.
The room hadn't changed. It was still bright—lit like a sunlit room at noon. But there were no windows, no lamps and no source to provide light.
He walked to the walls and ran his hand along each one, looking for a seam, a panel, and a hidden door, but there was nothing.
Still, the feeling didn't leave him. His chest felt heavy, but not with fear. It felt like missing someone. The kind of ache that comes in silence, soft and unshakable. He stepped into the centre of the room and turned one slow circle, taking it in one last time.
Then his eyes landed on the inside of the door—the one he had entered through.
There was something written on it. On the door outside, something was carved into the metal. The letters shimmered in soft gold, beautiful and unreadable. The language was foreign tohim, one he didn't recognize.
But on the inside of the same door, just beneath the first inscription, another message had been carved. This one was in English.
He walked toward it slowly. His throat felt tight. He swallowed hard, but the feeling didn't leave. His hand reached out, almost without thought, and traced the words with his fingers.
"I will make everything right. I promise! I miss you. Please take care… lots of hugs and kisses.
Your Precious, Livan!"
A tear slipped down Donovan's cheek before he even realized it. He touched his face and felt it—wet. He whispered the name under his breath.
"Livan…"
Why did it feel like it was meant for him? And why did it feel like… he knew her?
The door opened again without sound, just air-shifting as if telling him to leave.
Donovan stood therefor a moment, the words still felt on his fingers, the ache still in his chest. He cleared his face, inhaled deeply, and stepped outside. He couldn't grasp what was occurring within him, but this door, this space, safeguarded Liora. Apart from that, everything felt unclear to him.
Raynor was still standing in the same place, eyes fixed on Donovan. Then he smiled, showing his perfect white teeth.
"Drink?"
"Sure," Donovan answered without hesitation.
Donovan didn't think twice. "Sure."
They walked down to the first-floor lounge, the quiet between them hanging just a little too long. Their favourite drinks were already there. Donovan reached for his glass, brought it to his lips, and took a slow sip, then looked across at Raynor, who sat upright, not relaxed whose posture was too straight, too alert.
"Did you feel something in there?" Raynor asked. "Something magical, maybe?" He laughed lightly like he was trying to pass it off as a joke.
Donovan didn't laugh with him. "Do you know anyone named Livan?"
Raynor's laughter stopped for a second like it had been paused. Then it picked up quickly. "Why do you ask?" he said, still smiling.
Donovan didn't answer him. He just stared at him, calmly. He leaned forward slightly. "If you're going to hold information back, so will I."
Raynor looked away for a second. When he turned back, his smile was still there, but his voice was quieter.
"There's one woman I know of with that name," he said quietly. "I've never met her. She was gone before I was even born."
"Who was she?" Donovan asked.
"Have you heard the tale of Lord Lucian Valtham? The man who, by mistake, killed the woman he loved?"
Donovan gave a short nod.
"Her name was Livan," Raynor said. "Now it's your turn. What's behind the door?" Raynor leaned back, letting the words hang in the air. The name seemed to change the room. Now his gaze sharpened. "What did you see in that room?"
"Nothing," came a quick reply from Donovan. "Just a small room. Bright, without any visible source of light. It's warm. And there's a message written inside."
Raynor's interest deepened as he questioned. "What did the message say?"
Donovan waited before answering. Just long enough to let Raynor wonder then gave a half-truth.
"I miss you. Livan. That's all."
He didn't mention the rest. He didn't want to. The message felt too personal. It didn't feel like something meant to be shared. He set the whiskey glass on the table and leaned back, letting himself relax into the chair. He changed the topic before Raynor could ask more.
"About the property papers," Donovan said, changing the subject. "What name should be written on them? I need to inform my assistant so the documents can be finalised."
However, Raynor's response caught him off guard. "Lord Lucian Valtham."
Donovan raised an eyebrow. His tone stayed light, but his eyes didn't.
"So you're trying to tell the world he's alive? That the stories are true? That he is still sleeping somewhere in a coffin?"
"That's not what I'm saying," Raynor replied calmly. "In our family, whoever is given the name Lucian becomes the heir to Valtham. That's the rule. Family tradition, you could say."
"Then why isn't your name Lucian?" Donovan asked, picking up his drink again. "You could have had all of Valtham under your name instead of waiting for some male heir to be born."
Raynor looked down at his glass, though he hadn't taken a sip. Then he looked up again, the smile returning—this time more deliberate.
"This is how it is, Donovan. I don't make the rules. In our family, only the one named Lucian inherits Valtham."
He leaned in slightly, voice lighter now. "What do you say? If a future Lucian is born into my family… maybe we could tie hands. Strengthen our bond."
Donovan gave him a long, unreadable glance. "You're thinking too far ahead, Raynor."
"Come on," Raynor said, flashing his grin again. "Give it a thought."
Donovan set down his glass. He leaned forward. His voice lowered, but his words were clear.
"I'm not letting any woman from my family marry someone named Lucian, especially from your family. Who knows? He might kill her by mistake—just like he killed LIVAN."
He leaned back again, calm but firm. "And what are we, stuck in the '80s? Everyone should have the right to choose who they marry." He looked at his smartwatch. "I have to leave. Thanks for the drink."
Donovan left without saying another word and Raynor finished his glass in one go while looking at Donovan's direction.