The Pyro's Martial Artists Ranking glowed on my screen, a digital testant to power in our world. I scrolled through the nas, recognizing many from newspapers and whispered rumors.
Ignazio Bellweather sat comfortably at number three overall. No surprise there – the man was a legend, an immovable mountain in Veridia City's landscape of power.
Further down, younger talents like Dominic Ashworth and Dashiell Blackthorne occupied respectable positions. Their nas brought a bitter taste to my mouth for entirely different reasons.
Where would I fall if they knew what I was truly capable of? The thought whispered through my mind. Not at the top – not yet – but certainly not invisible anymore.
"Liam Knight? Is that you?"
The voice yanked from my thoughts. I looked up to find a vaguely familiar face watching with obvious surprise.
"Cody Ross," the man said, extending his hand. "We were in college together."
I hesitated before shaking his hand. Cody Ross – the na stirred unwelco mories from a ti I'd rather forget.
"Right," I said, keeping my voice neutral. "Cody."
"Man, it's been what – five years?" His smile seed genuine enough, though his eyes darted nervously. "So of our old classmates are upstairs having dinner. You should join us!"
Every instinct told to decline. My college years had been a special kind of hell – a daily gauntlet of humiliation and isolation.
"I'm actually waiting for soone," I lied.
"Co on, just for a few minutes," Cody insisted. "Everyone will be shocked to see you."
I wasn't sure if that was a complint. "Shocked" could an many things.
"Who exactly is up there?" I asked, caution lacing my words.
"Oh, you know. Tristan Monroe, Jordan Lancaster..." Cody's voice trailed off, and I understood why he seed nervous now.
Tristan Monroe. The re na sent an electric current of old rage through my body. Chief among my torntors, with Jordan Lancaster as his faithful second.
"I don't think that's a good idea," I said flatly.
Cody leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Look, Tristan's actually the one who spotted you. He insisted I invite you up. If I go back without you..." He left the implication hanging.
So things never change. Cody was still terrified of Tristan, still the eager ssenger boy.
I could walk away. I should walk away. Nothing good could co from revisiting those relationships.
And yet...
I wasn't the sa person they'd known. The weak, helpless scholarship student they'd tornted was gone, replaced by soone they couldn't begin to comprehend.
Perhaps it was ti they understood that.
"Fine," I said, rising from my seat. "Lead the way."
Cody's relief was palpable as he guided to the elevator. "They've got a private room on the third floor," he explained. "Company dinner or sothing."
The elevator doors slid open, and I followed him down a corridor lined with expensive artwork. The restaurant was clearly high-end – all polished wood and soft lighting.
Cody pushed open a door, revealing a spacious private dining room. Five n sat around a table laden with half-empty plates and wine glasses. This chapter first appeared on *.
"Look who I found downstairs!" Cody announced with forced enthusiasm.
Conversation halted as all eyes turned toward . Recognition dawned slowly, followed by expressions ranging from surprise to thinly veiled contempt.
Tristan Monroe sat at the head of the table, naturally. So things really never do change.
"Well, well," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Liam Knight. The ghost returns."
I remained in the doorway, letting my gaze travel deliberately from face to face. None of them had changed much physically – perhaps a little heavier, a little more polished in their expensive suits.
"Tristan," I acknowledged with a slight nod. "It's been a while."
"Sit down," he commanded, gesturing to an empty chair. "We were just discussing old tis."
I doubted that very much, but I took the offered seat. The others introduced themselves unnecessarily – I rembered each one all too well.
"So," Tristan began, refilling his wine glass without offering any, "what have you been up to since you disappeared? Last I heard, you'd married into so family in Havenwood."
The question was loaded, designed to establish hierarchy imdiately. My response would set the tone.
"I've been keeping busy," I said mildly.
"Doing what exactly?" Jordan Lancaster asked, his tone suggesting genuine curiosity mixed with condescension.
I smiled slightly. "Consulting, mostly."
"Consulting," Tristan repeated with a smirk. "Fancy word for unemployed, isn't it?"
Laughter rippled around the table. Old patterns reasserting themselves.
"What about you all?" I asked, ignoring the jab. "I see you're still traveling in a pack."
Tristan's eyes narrowed slightly. "We're all in elite managent now. Different companies, but sa circle."
"Elite managent," I repeated. "Impressive."
"It is, actually," Jordan said. "Tristan's regional director at Blackthorne Enterprises. I'm handling special projects for Lancaster Holdings."
The others chid in with similarly inflated titles, each trying to outdo the last. I listened, noting the desperate edge in their voices – the need for validation so transparent it was almost painful to witness.
"And what exactly does consulting entail in your case, Liam?" Tristan asked, steering the conversation back to . "Giving advice nobody asked for?"
More laughter, more familiar patterns.
I studied him thoughtfully. The sa smug smile. The sa calculated cruelty in his eyes. Yet sohow, he seed smaller than I rembered.
"You know what's funny?" I said quietly. "I forgot you existed until today."
The table fell silent.
"Excuse ?" Tristan's smile froze.
"All of you," I continued, gesturing around the table. "You were such massive figures in my life once. Now? I can't rember the last ti I thought about any of you."
Tristan's jaw tightened. "And yet here you are, sitting at our table."
"Curiosity," I admitted. "I wanted to see if you'd changed."
"And have we?" Jordan asked, sounding genuinely interested.
"No," I said simply. "You haven't."
Tristan laughed, but it sounded forced. "Still the sa self-righteous asshole, I see. So things never change."
"What exactly do you do in 'elite managent'?" I asked, making air quotes with my fingers. "Because from what I'm hearing, it sounds like professional bootlicking."
The temperature in the room seed to drop. Tristan's face darkened dangerously.
"You know," he said slowly, "I almost forgot how much I disliked you, Knight. Thanks for the reminder."
"The feeling's mutual," I replied calmly.
"You still haven't told us what you actually do," Jordan pressed, clearly trying to defuse the tension.
I leaned back, regarding them all with newfound clarity. These n had lood so large in my nightmares once. Now they seed almost pitiable – clinging to corporate titles and borrowed authority.
"What do I do?" I repeated softly. "I'm your daddy."
The words hung in the air like a thunderclap. Cody choked on his drink. Jordan's eyes widened to comical proportions.
Tristan's face flushed red. "You think you're so fucking clever now, don't you?" His voice had dropped to a dangerous whisper. "You didn't get enough of a beating back in college, huh?"
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