Chapter 6 - Whispering Sentinels
Marcus spat blood onto the white marble floor, his fingers trembling as he pushed himself up onto one knee. His black tuxedo was covered in white ceramic dust and crushed pink petals. He glared up at Silas, his chest heaving with violent, unbridled rage.
"You're an old ghost!" Marcus snarled, his voice rasping through his swollen throat as he motioned wildly toward the center of the room. "That seat is reserved for the head of this family!"
Silas stood motionless, looking down at his son with an emotionless glare that felt colder than a winter grave. He didn't answer right away. Instead, he slowly reached into the inner breast pocket of his charcoal jacket.
Celeste, clutching her bruised jaw on the ruined banquet table, backed away, her eyes wide with terror as she watched Silas pull his hand from his suit.
He didn't draw a gun. He didn't pull out a document.
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Between his leather-gloved thumb and forefinger rested a heavy, unpolished black signet ring, carved from dark meteoritic iron with no crest, no jewels, and no engraving—only a single, deep vertical notch running down its center.
Silas stepped forward, standing right above Marcus, and dropped the heavy black ring onto the marble tabletop next to the shattered champagne flutes. The solid iron clink carried clearly through the dead silence of the hall.
