The taste of the pill was bitter, even under the cheap sweetness of the juice.

Su Rin had known the moment his mother handed it to him with that soft, fake smile. He had seen the gleam in his father’s eyes when they whispered to each other in the kitchen, thinking he couldn’t hear. It wasn’t the first time they had treated him like disposable trash, but tonight was different.

Tonight… they were selling him.

The black car waiting outside smelled of leather and cologne, but the air inside was suffocating. Two men in dark suits sat in the front, silent as shadows. One of them handed his father a thick envelope before they drove away. He didn’t even try to hide it.

Su Rin’s body grew heavy, the world tilting as the drug began to spread. His head lolled to the side, and the streetlights blurred into streaks of white and gold.

He wanted to vomit.

He wanted to scream.

But most of all—he wanted to stop existing.

They led him through the back entrance of a luxury hotel, his arm hooked in a stranger’s iron grip. The carpet was too soft under his feet. The walls shimmered with gold leaf, mocking him.

He knew where they were taking him. Everyone knew about that man. Rich, cruel, and known for breaking pretty toys just to watch them cry.

His chest tightened. The hallway stretched on forever.

And then—an open door. Light spilling from within. A muffled voice from down the hall distracted the men for a moment.

Su Rin didn’t think. He pulled away—stumbling, his legs almost folding under him—and darted into the open room. He slammed the door shut, locked it, and collapsed against it, gasping.

The air in the room was cold. Dim. Quiet.

He didn’t notice the man sitting on the couch until it was too late.

Emmet Aurelius Kane lounged like a king, even with the haze of drugs in his veins. His suit jacket was discarded, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up. Dark hair framed a face both sharp and beautiful—an elegance that didn’t belong to mortals. His eyes… deep, watchful, predatory.

Su Rin didn’t see him. Or maybe he didn’t care.

He staggered toward the far corner, his breaths shallow and trembling. His knees hit the carpet, and he buried his face in his arms.

His thoughts spilled like blood.

I can’t do this anymore.

Why was I even born?

If I could just… stop… it would be easier.

I’m so tired.

Emmet’s gaze sharpened. He could hear them. Not the soft, broken sounds from Su Rin’s lips, but the voice inside his mind—clear, raw, unfiltered.

It wasn’t a conscious choice. His soul simply reached out and caught those threads of thought, like pulling silk from the air.

He sat still, listening.

They wanted me gone long ago. Maybe this way… they’ll finally be happy.

And then—silence. The boy’s body went slack, his head lolling to the side. His breathing slowed. Stopped.

Emmet didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.

It wasn’t his problem. Broken things died all the time.

…Until it happened.

It was subtle. A shift—like the air itself had drawn a sharp breath. The body on the floor shuddered once, and something else opened its eyes from within.

Cold. Empty. Dangerous.

The new presence scanned the room in an instant. This was not his world. The situation was clearly unfavorable—his body was weak, cornered, and under threat. Without hesitation, he dragged himself to the nightstand, found a decorative shard of glass, and pressed it to his wrist.

Crimson spilled across the pale carpet.

Emmet watched as the boy—no, the thing inside him—calmly assessed the damage, his expression unreadable even in agony.

This body is pathetic. But it’ll do.

Then, as though his task was done for now, the stranger inside Su Rin closed his eyes and let darkness take him.

Emmet’s lips curved slightly.

“Interesting,” he murmured, leaning back into the couch. He stayed there all night, never taking his eyes off the boy.

---

The knock on the door came just after dawn. It wasn’t a knock, really—more like a pounding.

Reporters spilled in first, cameras flashing wildly. Questions were shouted—about scandal, shame, and disgrace. Behind them came Su Rin’s parents, faces twisted into the perfect masks of grief and outrage.

And then—another voice cut through the chaos.

“Move.”

The crowd parted without thinking.

A man and woman stepped inside—impossibly composed despite the scene. They radiated wealth and authority. These were not people who ever had to introduce themselves.

Emmet’s parents.

“Emmet,” his father said coolly, ignoring everyone else. “We’ve been looking for you.”

Emmet finally stood, unhurried, his gaze flicking toward the unconscious boy on the floor.

The voices in the room blurred into meaningless noise. Because beneath it all, he heard something else—faint, like a whisper under glass.

Touch me and I’ll rip your fingers off.

And Emmet Aurelius Kane smiled.

The knock on the hotel suite door wasn’t really a knock.

It was a blunt, graceless shove that made the hinges groan in protest.

Su Rin didn’t move.

Leaning against the far wall of the dimly lit room, one hand resting loosely at his side, he might have looked like someone who’d drifted into sleep—if not for the faint, mocking curl at the corner of his mouth.

The smell of expensive cologne lingered faintly in the air, mixing with the metallic tang of camera flashes as they burst through the doorway like sparks from a welding torch. The first wave of noise hit him before the people themselves did—reporters’ voices tumbling over one another in a desperate scramble to be the first to land their question, their accusation.

Behind them came sharper tones: a woman’s gasp pitched for maximum drama, and a man’s voice, booming with self-righteous fury, already aimed at the watching lenses.

And there they were—Su Rin’s parents.

“Su Rin!” His mother’s voice could have split glass. Her eyes darted around the room, lingering for the briefest instant on the tall figure seated at the far end before snapping back to her son. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?!”

The reporters didn’t wait for an answer.

“What’s your relationship with the man in this room?”

“Were you caught red-handed in a scandal?”

“Is it true you’ve been—”

The words dissolved into a meaningless drone in Su Rin’s ears. He didn’t so much as blink.

Across from him, Emmet Aurelius Kane sat in a high-backed armchair as though the chaos were a stage performance laid on for his private enjoyment. The lighting caught faint glints in his dark hair, his posture impeccable, one long leg draped over the other. His shirt was uncreased, his expression faintly curious—like a man contemplating a puzzle rather than a scandal.

Behind him, the taller, broader silhouette of his father, Alistair Kane, leaned casually against the now-open doorframe. Two security men stood flanking him. No one had seen the Kane family enter; one moment the suite had been locked, the next their presence filled the space like a shifting tide.

“Emmet.” Alistair’s voice was calm, deep, and unhurried, the kind of voice that could silence a boardroom. “Care to explain what’s happening?”

Emmet’s lips curved—not quite into a smile, more a private acknowledgment of amusement. He didn’t look at his father, nor at Su Rin’s parents. His gaze remained fixed on the boy against the wall.

“No explanation,” Emmet said after a beat, his tone light enough to be mistaken for boredom. “There’s nothing to explain.”

Nothing to explain—yet his attention hadn’t wavered for a second.

Alistair’s wife, Eveline Kane, stepped forward, every movement elegant, her presence commanding without raising her voice. Her dress fell in smooth lines, her heels silent against the thick carpet. She swept a glance over the reporters, then over the shaken couple who called themselves Su Rin’s parents, before her eyes finally paused on the quiet boy in the corner.

And then—

Tsk. How noisy.

The words weren’t spoken aloud. They slipped into the room like smoke, curling into the ears of all three Kanes as if whispered directly to them.

Emmet’s gaze sharpened almost imperceptibly. He knew without question the thought came from Su Rin.

These people really think they can shame me into breaking. How quaint.

Emmet’s fingers tapped once on the armrest, a tiny, deliberate movement.

Alistair’s expression didn’t change, but his head inclined by a degree, the way a predator might take note of an unexpected shift in the wind. Eveline, for her part, let her lashes lower slightly to hide the faint spark of intrigue in her eyes.

The reporters kept firing questions, trying to pin their prey. Su Rin’s father stepped forward, jaw tight, anger gleaming for the cameras.

“Su Rin, apologize immediately!”

At last, the boy opened his eyes.

They were dark—deceptively so. Not the darkness of someone lost or terrified, but of a still, deep lake that could hide sharp stones and cold depths beneath.

“I’m sorry,” Su Rin murmured. His voice was quiet, trembling, the perfect soundbite for public sympathy. Fragile. Breakable.

The cameras went wild, shutters clicking like a drumbeat. His mother pressed a hand to her forehead in weary despair. “We’ve tried so hard to raise him well, but—”

You didn’t raise me at all. You sold me.

The thought came through so clear, so cold, that Emmet’s smile deepened a fraction. Eveline’s head tilted ever so slightly; she had heard it too, and the unvarnished truth in it made something tighten in her chest.

The room’s noise swelled again until Alistair lifted one hand. His voice cut cleanly through the clamor.

“This room,” he said, his tone edged with quiet authority, “belongs to my son. I suggest you leave.”

It wasn’t a request.

Security moved at once, ushering the reporters toward the door despite their protests. Su Rin’s parents lingered, clearly itching to hurl more accusations, but a single cool look from Eveline stopped them in their tracks.

When the door shut at last, the silence was almost startling.

Emmet didn’t move from his chair. His gaze stayed on Su Rin.

The boy lowered himself to the carpet, sitting cross-legged, head bowed. It looked as though he might cry. He didn’t.

Pathetic act number one complete. They’ll think I’m too broken to fight back. Good.

Alistair glanced at his son. Emmet’s expression gave nothing away, but his eyes were fixed with an intensity that belied his relaxed posture.

Eveline allowed herself the smallest smile. Oh… he’s clever, she thought. And adorable, in that strange way some creatures are when they bare their teeth only in their mind.

“Interesting,” Emmet murmured, almost to himself.

---

The next morning, Su Rin sat at the breakfast table, silent as his parents made thinly veiled remarks about disgrace. His face was pale, eyes lowered, shoulders hunched just enough to look smaller.

Inside—

Let them talk. They’re already doing my work for me.

Far away, in the Kane family’s private dining room, Eveline was pouring tea for her husband when that same voice brushed her mind again, distant but unmistakable.

She set the teapot down gently. “Alistair… he’s going to be quite something, isn’t he?”

Her husband didn’t answer immediately, but the faint curl at Emmet’s lips, seated across from them, was answer enough.

The teacup in Eveline Kane’s hand stayed perfectly steady as she watched her son.

Emmet hadn’t looked away from his plate once, yet she knew exactly where his thoughts were. She’d raised him, after all—raised him to guard his expression, to keep his eyes a weapon.

Alistair’s hand rested loosely on the arm of his chair. His gaze was fixed on the morning paper, but his mind was on the echo of a voice he’d heard the day before.

Not spoken aloud, yet perfectly clear.

Let them talk. They’re already doing my work for me.

That wasn’t a thought belonging to a timid, disgraced boy. That was the voice of someone who knew the weight of patience.

Emmet set his cutlery down, leaning back in his chair. “I’ll be late tonight.”

Eveline’s eyes flickered to him. “Work?”

A beat of silence, then a faint, knowing curl of his lips. “Something like that.”

The Kanes didn’t ask further. They never did, not when they already knew their son was chasing something—or someone.

---

On the other side of the city, Su Rin’s breakfast was a colder affair.

His parents sat across from him, dressed sharply for the day. They didn’t look at him directly, but their words slid like polished knives.

“You’ve already embarrassed us once,” his mother said, stirring her coffee as if she could swirl the bitterness away. “If you have any decency left, you’ll keep your head down from now on.”

His father didn’t look up from his phone. “We’re meeting the Lis this afternoon. You’ll stay in your room.”

“Yes.”

The word left Su Rin’s lips softly, perfectly obedient.

Inside—

The Lis? So you’re still keeping that arrangement. Selling me twice, then. Efficient.

He speared a piece of toast with his fork and kept his head bowed, the picture of a boy who knew his place. In truth, every barb they threw was being catalogued, sorted, filed away. One day, he would hand each one back.

His mother glanced up then, studying him. She saw pale skin, downcast eyes, shoulders slightly hunched. She saw weakness—and she believed it.

She didn’t see the faintest flicker at the corner of his mouth.

---

That afternoon, Emmet stood at the far end of the Kane Group’s executive floor, hands in his pockets, watching the rain streak the glass.

Most people hated weather like this—dull, grey, unending.

Emmet found it perfect. It blurred the edges of the world, made people hurry, made them careless.

He replayed the moment in the hotel suite when he’d first heard Su Rin’s mind. Not a plea, not a cry, but a dry, cutting assessment of the entire scene.

Adorable, in a way. Like finding a stray cat that hisses at every hand but still walks straight into your lap.

A quiet knock on his office door. Eveline stepped in, not bothering with pleasantries.

“Your father says you’re interested in the Lin family’s son,” she said, taking a seat across from him.

Emmet’s eyes lifted slightly, a slow, lazy acknowledgment. “Interested is one word for it.”

Eveline smiled faintly. “Do you intend to keep him?”

A pause.

“I intend,” Emmet said at last, “to see what happens when no one believes he’s dangerous.”

---

Back at the Lin house, Su Rin’s father paced the study. “You should have seen Kane’s face—acting as though we were the ones in the wrong. He’s only protecting the boy because he doesn’t want scandal attached to his family.”

His wife’s voice was sharper. “If we’d known he was in that room, we’d never have agreed to the reporters. Now we look like fools.”

Her husband stopped pacing, his brows drawing together. “Do you think they’ll retaliate?”

She waved the thought away. “The Kanes don’t care about people like us. Once the story dies down, they’ll forget him. And then we can send him where we like.”

From the hallway outside, Su Rin stood perfectly still, their words spilling into him like water soaking into dry ground.

Forget me?

He almost smiled.

Let them think they’ve won. It’ll be more satisfying when they realize they never even saw the knife.

---

That night, long after the rain had stopped, Emmet passed beneath the warm glow of the Kane estate’s garden lights. The air smelled faintly of wet earth.

He thought again of the boy’s pale face, the fragile act. The way his voice inside his mind had been steady when everything else had been chaos.

The first thread was already in his hand.

He only had to pull.