Pyren’s sudden silence was a small, cold comfort in the tightening air. He stared at the steaming imprint, his face draining of its usual arrogance, replaced by a brittle disbelief. Mireni’s gaze, however, was already tracking further into the foyer, not towards the impossible footprint, but towards the heavy, ornate door of Patriarch Grivas’s personal study. The patriarch, usually composed, stood before the reinforced door, his face pale under the amber emergency strip. His attention remained fixed on the wall; his fingers struck the concealed interface panel beside the frame, battering out override codes with hurried precision. “Father, what is this?” Pyren’s voice cracked, thin and shrill. “The system is fried, the network dead! What are you doing?” Grivas didn’t respond, his efforts growing more frenzied. The soft blue glow of the panel shifted to an angry red as it rejected his commands. A bead of sweat traced a path down his temple, reflecting the emergency lighting. The sheer terror in his posture was stark, a stark contrast to the unflappable man Mireni had known. He was trying to flee something already inside, an intent that registered instantly in Mireni's assessment. This wasn’t a random system malfunction. This wasn’t an external threat. This was internal, personal, and Grivas Zevris knew exactly why. A flicker of triumph, quickly suppressed, touched Mireni’s mind. A panicked patriarch was a vulnerable patriarch. A vulnerable patriarch was leverage. Pyren, seeing his father’s futile struggle, let out a strangled cry of frustration and spun away, disappearing down the corridor towards the sprawling entertainment wing, presumably to the billiard room or the private gym. His retreat left the foyer quiet, save for the hum of the emergency lights and Grivas’s ragged breathing. This was her window. Mireni moved with a quiet swiftness that came from years of navigating hostile environments. Grivas was too consumed by his panic to notice her slip past him and into his study. The room held relics of wealth and obscure ritual: polished darkwood, archaic parchment sealed behind reinforced glass, and a holographic projector charting ley points and power conduits. The air was thick with the scent of aged paper and something faintly metallic. Her eyes scanned the room, bypassing the obvious displays of power. Status symbols offered no utility; she searched for actionable secrets. Her gaze landed on a small, unassuming desk tucked away in a shadowed alcove, piled with financial ledgers and data slates. Unlike the ceremonial central table, this one bore scuffs, ink stains, and an air of secrecy. She approached it, her fingers brushing over a stack of leather-bound books. Beneath them, almost entirely concealed, was a sleek, black data slate. It wasn’t an Zevris-branded device; it was a bespoke piece, indicating extreme sensitivity. Her trained fingers found the hidden release catch on the side of the desk. A panel slid open, revealing a micro-vault, its interior glowing faintly. Inside, nestled among a few precious coins, was another, much older ledger, its cover a worn, deep crimson. And beside it, a slim, dark chip—a data chip. Mireni took both, the smooth, cool plastic of the chip a stark contrast to the rough, aged leather of the ledger. She located a discreet terminal, usually used for private stock trading, and inserted the chip. The screen flickered to life, displaying a single, timestamped video file. The date was recent, only a week prior. Mireni initiated playback, her expression unreadable. The footage showed Grivas, not in his usual tailored suits, but in rough, blood-stained coveralls, inside a sterile, metallic chamber. Before him, strapped to a dissection table, lay an enormous animal. Its coat, a shimmering white, belonged to a Tundesh hound—a consecrated beast known from ancestral folklore and kept alive as an illicit trophy by the mega-wealthy. This particular hound had been the Zevris family’s ‘status symbol’ in the lower levels of Kravak Tower, its existence whispered about by the city’s underbelly. Mireni recalled Pyren’s snide remarks about it, how it was ‘so senile it barely moved, an expensive waste of space’. On the screen, Grivas’s hands, usually so steady, trembled as he wielded an array of surgical tools. He worked with a grim, practiced efficiency, peeling away the pristine white fur, the flesh beneath glistening wetly. The hound, still drawing breath, made no sound, its immense, milk-filmed eyes fixed on empty air. Grivas carefully separated the pelt, his movements precise, almost ritualistic. The camera zoomed in as he applied viscous tinctures to the flayed hide, chanting archaic syllables Mireni could not parse, though the intent was obvious: this was not mere taxidermy. This was an attempt to siphon vitality, to bind it to the hide and subvert a consecrated ward. The footage ended with Grivas carefully folding the treated pelt. Mireni then opened the ledger. Its pages were filled with Grivas’s tight, precise script. It detailed the family lineage, but more importantly, recorded an ancestral covenant. An inviolable oath sworn generations ago to the Tundesh, guardians of the city’s subterranean springs, in exchange for fortune. The oath had come with a terrifying rider: any of their bloodline who took a Tundesh life, or profaned its form, would incur the wrath of the ‘Skinless Hound’, an entity that would systematically flay all those of the offending blood, and those married into it, until the harvested pelt was returned. The final entries, jagged and uneven, recorded Miliya’s terminal decline, the failures of every cellular therapy, and Grivas’s chosen sacrilege: wrapping the child in the hound's vital essence to sustain her failing heart. The pieces clicked into place with horrifying clarity. The lockdown, the dead systems, the single, steaming, skinless footprint. The invisible hound spirit wasn’t just a myth; it was here, trapped with them in the Kravak Tower, a vengeful entity seeking its stolen coat. And Mireni, as Pyren Zevris’s wife, was now firmly on its list. Not of the Zevris blood, but undeniably ‘married into it’. A cold, calculated smile touched her lips. Miliya, the innocent child, was safe, so long as she wore the cursed pelt. The guilty, Grivas and Pyren, would pay. And Mireni? She would simply ensure she was not among them when the Skinless Hound came calling. A piercing, guttural scream tore through the silence of the penthouse, echoing from the direction of the billiard room. It was Pyren. Mireni's smile widened, a predatory gleam in her eyes.

Blood Debt