The ship’s horn blared, a long, resonant note that rolled across the harbor.
The Flying Dragon was making its final approach. Dawn light spilled over the sea as the massive cruise ship glided toward the port. Passengers crowded along the railings, cheering and waving, their excitent a mix of relief and disbelief that the journey was finally coming to an end.
Ethan, however, could only stare, his expression sowhere between helplessness and exhaustion.
He glanced toward the bed, where Amber Zane lay fast asleep. Her breathing was soft and even, her face calm, though faint streaks of dried tears still clung to her lashes.
And him?
Why was it so damn hard to catch a break? he thought, rubbing his temples. What the hell just happened?
After a night of what could only be called chaos, he felt no fatigue at all. In fact, it was Amber who had reached her limit—more than once—drifting between monts of wakefulness and unconsciousness.
And him? He was still... well. He gave a crooked smile and let out a quiet sigh. ’Forget it.’
He swung his legs off the bed and took in the wreckage around him. Their clothes lay scattered across the floor in torn, useless pieces. With a flicker of thought, he summoned a fresh set from his Mindscape and began dressing.
When he looked back at the bed, a single crimson mark stained the sheets. For a mont, he simply stared at it, his expression unreadable. Then he shook his head. It was done. There was nothing more to say.
He pulled the blanket up to cover Amber’s bare shoulders, tucking her in gently before turning away.
His Soul Sense spread outward in a silent wave, sweeping across the entire ship in an instant. On the deck, two n—one broad and heavyset, the other lean and sharp-eyed—stiffened at the sa ti. Their gazes t, and in that brief look was shared resignation.
"It’s finally over..." one muttered.
They had just received Ethan’s ntal ssage, instructing them to co over imdiately.
As they turned to leave, another pulse of thought reached them.
"Bring food."
A short pause.
"A lot of it."
Back in the suite, Ethan dropped onto the living room sofa and lit a cigarette. The smoke curled lazily toward the ceiling as his stomach growled in protest. He felt like he could devour an entire cow.
Then his eyes drifted to the far corner of the room. A woman was lying there, motionless.
He blinked. She’d been there since... when?
Extending his Soul Sense again, he probed her mind and found a seal—an intricate spiritual ward that kept her unconscious. A bitter smile touched his lips. That had to be the fatty’s work.
The structure of the ward was complex, far beyond what he expected. For a mont, he wasn’t even sure how to begin unraveling it. Impressive.
’What’s that fatty’s story?’ he thought. ’I’ll have to ask him later.’
Monts later, Ery Shaw and Varric Stone appeared at his door, arms full of food. Ethan opened it, snatched the bags without a word, and began eating right there.
"Are we almost there?" he asked between bites.
"We’re already entering the port," Ery said. "We can disembark any minute."
Ethan nodded and chewed faster.
"What about her?" Varric asked, crouching beside the unconscious woman and jerking his chin toward her. "What do we do with this one?"
"Undo the ward," Ethan said, still eating. "I’ve got a few questions for her. I think I might know who she is."
"Hmm?"
Before either of them could move, the woman let out a soft groan. Her eyelids fluttered, and she slowly regained consciousness.
The first thing she saw was Varric’s large face hovering right in front of hers.
"Ah!" she scread, voice shrill and panicked.
Varric jerked back, muttering under his breath, "Shit..." and stepped aside.
The woman—Quinn—struggled upright, eyes darting wildly. The mont she spotted Ethan, her whole body froze. Her face went pale as terror gripped her.
"Ethan... don’t kill !" she cried, her voice breaking. "It was my godfather! He made do it!"
Ethan’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Oh? So you do know ."
He exhaled slowly, his gaze sharpening. "Tell , then—who are you?"
Now it was clear. This woman hadn’t just been a bystander. She’d been part of the plan to drug Amber.
"I... I’m Quinn!"
Her voice trembled, but her eyes flickered with sothing sharp when she t Ethan’s gaze.
’He doesn’t even rember who I am?’ The thought struck her like a slap. For an instant, resentnt twisted her features before she quickly masked it—but Ethan caught the brief change.
"Quinn?" he repeated, narrowing his eyes. "So it really is you. And you hate ?"
There was genuine confusion in his tone. For a mont, he wondered if old man Kane had been nothing more than a scapegoat. Could Quinn, his forr employee, have been the real hand behind the sche?
The woman before him was barely recognizable. Her face was buried under layers of makeup, her hair and posture different from how he rembered her. But that look in her eyes—raw, venomous hatred—was unmistakable.
Ethan tried to recall what he could. He couldn’t think of anything that would have provoked such loathing. He rembered Celia telling him Quinn had resigned. He’d even told Celia to give her a generous severance package—three months’ salary, tripled. That was nine months of pay, close to a hundred thousand dollars. Why on earth would she hate him?
Quinn lowered her head, realizing from his expression that he had seen the flash of hatred she tried to hide.
"I... don’t..." she began, then suddenly let out a piercing scream. Her hands clutched her head as she collapsed onto the floor, writhing in pain.
"That’s what you get for lying," Varric said casually, standing off to the side. A strange mist shimred faintly in his eyes.
Ethan turned to him, curiosity mixing with amusent. ’This guy’s sharper than he looks.’
"Heh, please, boss, go ahead," Varric said quickly, his tone turning obsequious as the strange light faded from his gaze.
Quinn’s cries slowly died down. Her body trembled as she knelt on the floor, sweat dripping from her chin, soaking the carpet.
"Tell everything," Ethan said quietly. His voice carried an unspoken weight. "I, Ethan Caelum, give you my word—I won’t make things difficult for you."
Quinn raised her head, her breathing ragged. Her face was pale, but her eyes burned with a feverish light.
"Ethan..." she hissed his na through clenched teeth. "You made the manager of the gym, and then you stripped of my authority. You humiliated in front of everyone. Am I not allowed to hate you for that?"
Her voice rose into a scream, trembling with rage and self-pity.
Ethan stared at her, montarily stunned. That’s it?
All of this chaos, all of this madness—because of sothing so petty?
He didn’t even know how to respond.
Across the room, Varric and Ery exchanged glances. They didn’t know the full story, but Ethan’s reaction said enough. The woman’s hatred, her instability—it was absurd.
"Yes, that’s it!" Quinn shouted, staggering to her feet. Her hands were balled into fists, her face contorted. "I worked myself to the bone for you! I did everything I could to make the gym profitable. Was I wrong for that? I rented out the whole place to Mr. Leon’s crew to bring in more money—was that wrong? Everything I did was for you! And what did I get in return?"
Her voice cracked. "You humiliated and took it all away!"
Ethan looked at her, his expression unreadable. He couldn’t decide whether to be angry or just pity her. How narrow-minded can a person be? he thought. ’And I actually trusted her with the gym...’
He exhaled, his tone quiet but edged with disbelief. "Was I the one who was wrong? I only bought that gym for fun."
"For fun?" Quinn laughed bitterly. "That’s all you rich people ever think about—fun!"
Ethan’s eyes softened for a mont, then cooled again. He shook his head slowly. This woman was lost to her own bitterness.
His thoughts drifted briefly to Amber, still asleep in the next room. She had been drugged and nearly destroyed because of all this. He had thought it was a ss that didn’t concern him—but now, knowing Quinn’s involvent, a flicker of guilt stirred in his chest.
"Even if I was in the wrong," he said at last, his voice turning cold, "you had no right to go after an innocent person."
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