Marcus walked to where he’d thrown the Purdey. Picked it up. Began reloading with deliberate calm that cost him every ounce of will he still possessed, but his fingers were trembling with the need to put a shell through that perfect golden face.

"Is that why you’re here? To brag? Show off how well your Bloodline planned ahead?"

Danton threw his head back and laughed—bright, genuine, absolutely delighted with himself. The laugh made you want to commit violence until your hands bled and your soul cracked.

"Now you’re getting grumpy like an old man! All cranky and bitter!" He spread his arms wide, spinning once like a child showing off a new outfit. "Although my little bloodlne did plan ahead like I had planned before THAT happened to us—quite brilliantly, if I do say so myself, which I do, frequently—I didn’t forget you, Helel. I never forget my friends."

He paused. "Well. Sometimes I forget their birthdays. But never their faces!"

Marcus’s jaw tightened. "Are you deliberately rubbing it in? That despite being born with some of my memories, I never did anything to help me gain my powers?" He turned, shotgun hanging loose in his grip.

"Is that what this is? Bragging?"

Danton laughed harder. Waved his hand dismissively. "Not at all! Not at all, Helel! I would never!"

Beat.

"Well. Maybe a little."

"Then stop calling me my fucking original name, asshole." The words came out of Marcus sharp and bitter, carrying years of frustration compressed into syllables and the helpless rage of a god trapped in mortal meat.

"I feel like crap hearing it without the powers it’s supposed to come with. I am Marcus. Until I get my powers, I am Marcus. Not Helel."

Danton’s laughter subsided into a grin that held no warmth—he’d found a button and planned to press it forever, grind it into the raw nerve until it bled eternity.

"Such a shame." He shook his head slowly, tutting like a disappointed teacher. "Such a shame, Helel. Helel, Helel, Helel. Do you know what it means to deny your own name? It’s very sad, Helel. Tragic, even, ask Phei what it cost him, haahahaha. Helel. Helel. Helel."

Marcus loaded a shell.

Raised the shotgun and fired directly at Danton’s face.

The Jörmungandr Prince caught the shot between two fingers. Held it up. Examined it with casual interest. Flicked it away like a booger.

"Really, old friend." His tone dripped with disappointment. "We’re past this, aren’t we? The shooting-at-my-face thing? It’s getting old. Like you."

Marcus lowered the weapon. "Why are you here?"

Danton’s expression shifted and the mockery drained away. The amusement faded.... what remained was something ancient and cold and absolutely focused—

Then he grinned again.

"Kidding! Had you going there, didn’t I? The serious face?" He laughed at his own joke. "But actually, yes. It’s time to act."

He began walking, and Marcus fell into step beside him automatically—two predators circling the same territory, temporarily aligned, one of them significantly more annoying than the other and the other feeling every second of his own uselessness like a blade between the ribs.

"Phei’s side has somehow managed to steal the witch from us. Very rude. And according to Jonathan what he told us this morning, his wife told Phei what we’re planning." Danton clicked his tongue in disapproval. "That compromises our entire operation. Sloppy, sloppy, sloppy." 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝔀𝓮𝒃𝙣𝓸𝒗𝒆𝒍.𝙘𝒐𝒎

"Knowing the dragon," Marcus said, voice flat as fresh graves, "he always had a soft spot for those allied with him. If we can get Roxanne, he’ll return the witch to—"

"That’s where you’re wrong!"

Danton stopped walking. Turned to face Marcus with a smile that could curdle milk and rot the soul behind it.

"He’s already taken Roxanne. After cuckolding Jonathan quite thoroughly, I’m told. Bent her over in their own bedroom while Jonathan watched. Very romantic." His smile widened, serpent eyes gleaming with vicious delight.

"I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept of being cuckolded, yes? Since you lost Sierra. And Amber. And Elena. And Maddie. And—how many was it again? I’ve lost count. There were so many. So many pretty little things you couldn’t keep. So many failures stacked like kindling for the fire you still can’t light."

Marcus’s teeth ground together hard enough to crack enamel, the sound echoing like distant thunder inside his skull.

The hell inside him roared—helpless, ancient, chained—and for one blinding instant he tasted the copper of his own impotent fury.

"Anyway—"

Danton turned toward the Heavenchild residence. His serpent eyes seemed to pierce through trees and walls and distance, landing on something specific. Something important.

A certain pair.

"It’s time we accelerated the plan. Phei doesn’t know what timeline we’re working with—he’s too busy playing house with his little collection." Danton made air quotes with his fingers, dripping condescension. "’Family time.’ ’Bonding.’ ’Love.’" He fake-gagged.

"Disgusting. Anyway! The faster we move while he’s distracted being emotionally available, the faster we take what we want. Other families are already preparing their girls. No need to kidnap Roxanne. We can’t!"

He turned back to Marcus.

"Get the twins ready. Go to Hell’s Paradise Island." He winked. "I’d tell you good luck, but we both know luck has nothing to do with it. Talent. Planning. Being better than everyone else. That’s the secret, Helel."

"Marcus."

"Sure, sure. Marcus." Danton patted his cheek twice, the touch light as a lover’s but heavy as judgment. "Cheer up, old friend. Soon you’ll have your powers back and we can stop having these depressing conversations about your inadequacies."

Before Marcus could respond—or reload and shoot him again—Danton crouched slightly, shot him one last infuriating wink, and launched.

The sonic boom shattered windows across the east wing of the estate. Trees bent in the shockwave like suppliants before a god. Birds exploded from branches in panicked clouds, some simply dropping dead mid-air from the sheer pressure of his departure.

And Danton was gone, a golden streak vanishing into the afternoon sky.

Marcus stood alone on the shooting range.

Smiled.

It was time.

The twins had always existed for one purpose. Paige and Brielle Heavenchild—his beloved cousins, his family’s carefully maintained investments. They were the key to something Danton wanted more than power, more than revenge, more than the satisfaction of watching the world burn.

Shekinah.

His first love. His only love. The being he’d lost when everything fell apart, when the world they’d known crumbled into myth and died.

The Jörmungandr Prince was obsessed with the twins because they were the only way to bring her back. Marcus hadn’t been born a twin that would serve as the vessel for the other Angel Progenitor, and but they could still give Danton what he craved.

Because there was a way.

There had always been a way.

And now was the time to use it.