It was almost midnight when Jay walked into his father's private study.

The mansion was silent, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath.

Vavaporn stood with his back to the door, his fingers clasped behind him, a glass of untouched whiskey on the table beside him. He didn't speak right away.

Jay stood in silence, hands at his sides, hiding the tremble in his fingers. His shirt still smelled of smoke. His boots were stained with blood. The wound on his shoulder throbbed with each ...