The city pulsed under the weight of a coming storm. Thick clouds smothered the sky, and a restless wind whipped down the narrow streets. Elias zipped up his jacket and crossed the avenue toward the glowing tower of glass and steel — The Astoria Hotel — the kind of place where the Linwoods held private parties and silent business dealings.
He wasn't here for them tonight.
The hardware store had sent him to deliver specialized fittings to the hotel's maintenance department, a simple enough task. Still, something about the air tonight prickled the back of his neck. The pendant in his pocket — the crescent moon wrapped in flame — felt strangely heavy against his chest.
As he approached the grand marble steps, a familiar voice cut through the crowd.
"Elias Crane. I thought I'd find you lurking somewhere like this."
He turned.
Across the courtyard stood Amelia Dane, a girl he knew from a lifetime ago. She was different now — polished, sharp, dressed in a sleek corporate dress that screamed ambition. Gone was the scrappy friendliness they once shared. In its place, something colder gleamed in her eyes.
Amelia strutted toward him, heels clicking like clockwork. A few guests near the entrance glanced over, sensing the tension.
"I heard you married into the Linwoods," she said, voice syrupy with fake sweetness. "Climbing the social ladder in your own way, huh? Delivering packages, hoping someone important notices?"
A few quiet chuckles floated from the onlookers. Elias said nothing. He let her spit her poison, as he had learned to do so many times before.
Amelia stepped closer, lowering her voice. "Don't tell me you're here trying to sneak your way in. Hoping to play important for a night?"
Before Elias could respond, another voice cut across the courtyard like a blade.
"Who is causing trouble at my door?"
The crowd parted.
From inside the hotel's gold-framed entrance emerged a man in a sharply tailored black suit. His presence alone shifted the energy of the space — every staff member stiffened, every guest lowered their voices.
Caius Vance.
General Manager of the Astoria.
A name that carried weight not just in the city's elite circles, but in the murkier undercurrents too — whispers of dealings with the regional underworld, of debts enforced with more than just paperwork.
His sharp eyes landed on Elias — and froze.
For a long, tense moment, Caius simply stared.
Then, without hesitation, he strode forward, stopping directly before Elias.
"Sir Crane," he said, his voice dropping low, filled with something close to reverence. He dropped his head in a slight bow — a gesture the crowd around them clearly didn't understand.
Gasps and murmurs broke out immediately. Amelia paled.
Caius turned, his expression hardening.
"And who dares insult a Crane heir at my doorstep?"
Amelia stumbled backward, suddenly aware of the shift in air, the dangerous glint now sparking in Caius's eyes.
"I—I didn't know—" she stammered.
"You dared to mock his blood," Caius said, his voice growing colder. "And in my house, disrespect to a Crane demands punishment."
Before anyone could stop him, Caius struck her across the face with the back of his hand — sharp, precise, and without an ounce of hesitation. Amelia collapsed onto the steps, gasping in shock.
The courtyard froze in stunned silence.
"You will apologize," Caius said quietly, "and you will disappear."
Amelia scrambled to her feet, clutching her cheek, and ran without another word.
Caius turned back to Elias, his expression softening.
"My lord," he said, just loud enough for Elias to hear, "it has been too long. Forgive the ignorance of those who do not know who you are."
Elias remained still, calm, his eyes cool.
He said only one thing: "We should talk."
"Of course," Caius said, gesturing toward the private elevators. "Your world awaits."
And as they disappeared into the gleaming tower of the Astoria, the whispers outside grew louder. The man they had mocked was not a nobody.
He was something they had no name for — yet.