The First Thread

The teacup in Eveline Kane’s hand stayed perfectly steady as she watched her son.

Emmet hadn’t looked away from his plate once, yet she knew exactly where his thoughts were. She’d raised him, after all—raised him to guard his expression, to keep his eyes a weapon.

Alistair’s hand rested loosely on the arm of his chair. His gaze was fixed on the morning paper, but his mind was on the echo of a voice he’d heard the day before.

Not spoken aloud, yet perfectly clear.

Let them talk. They’re already doing my work for me.

That wasn’t a thought belonging to a timid, disgraced boy. That was the voice of someone who knew the weight of patience.

Emmet set his cutlery down, leaning back in his chair. “I’ll be late tonight.”

Eveline’s eyes flickered to him. “Work?”

A beat of silence, then a faint, knowing curl of his lips. “Something like that.”

The Kanes didn’t ask further. They never did, not when they already knew their son was chasing something—or someone.

---

On the other side of the city, Su Rin’s breakfast was a colder affair.

His parents sat across from him, dressed sharply for the day. They didn’t look at him directly, but their words slid like polished knives.

“You’ve already embarrassed us once,” his mother said, stirring her coffee as if she could swirl the bitterness away. “If you have any decency left, you’ll keep your head down from now on.”

His father didn’t look up from his phone. “We’re meeting the Lis this afternoon. You’ll stay in your room.”

“Yes.”

The word left Su Rin’s lips softly, perfectly obedient.

Inside—

The Lis? So you’re still keeping that arrangement. Selling me twice, then. Efficient.

He speared a piece of toast with his fork and kept his head bowed, the picture of a boy who knew his place. In truth, every barb they threw was being catalogued, sorted, filed away. One day, he would hand each one back.

His mother glanced up then, studying him. She saw pale skin, downcast eyes, shoulders slightly hunched. She saw weakness—and she believed it.

She didn’t see the faintest flicker at the corner of his mouth.

---

That afternoon, Emmet stood at the far end of the Kane Group’s executive floor, hands in his pockets, watching the rain streak the glass.

Most people hated weather like this—dull, grey, unending.

Emmet found it perfect. It blurred the edges of the world, made people hurry, made them careless.

He replayed the moment in the hotel suite when he’d first heard Su Rin’s mind. Not a plea, not a cry, but a dry, cutting assessment of the entire scene.

Adorable, in a way. Like finding a stray cat that hisses at every hand but still walks straight into your lap.

A quiet knock on his office door. Eveline stepped in, not bothering with pleasantries.

“Your father says you’re interested in the Lin family’s son,” she said, taking a seat across from him.

Emmet’s eyes lifted slightly, a slow, lazy acknowledgment. “Interested is one word for it.”

Eveline smiled faintly. “Do you intend to keep him?”

A pause.

“I intend,” Emmet said at last, “to see what happens when no one believes he’s dangerous.”

---

Back at the Lin house, Su Rin’s father paced the study. “You should have seen Kane’s face—acting as though we were the ones in the wrong. He’s only protecting the boy because he doesn’t want scandal attached to his family.”

His wife’s voice was sharper. “If we’d known he was in that room, we’d never have agreed to the reporters. Now we look like fools.”

Her husband stopped pacing, his brows drawing together. “Do you think they’ll retaliate?”

She waved the thought away. “The Kanes don’t care about people like us. Once the story dies down, they’ll forget him. And then we can send him where we like.”

From the hallway outside, Su Rin stood perfectly still, their words spilling into him like water soaking into dry ground.

Forget me?

He almost smiled.

Let them think they’ve won. It’ll be more satisfying when they realize they never even saw the knife.

---

That night, long after the rain had stopped, Emmet passed beneath the warm glow of the Kane estate’s garden lights. The air smelled faintly of wet earth.

He thought again of the boy’s pale face, the fragile act. The way his voice inside his mind had been steady when everything else had been chaos.

The first thread was already in his hand.

He only had to pull.

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