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SHADOWS OF THE OAT CHAPTER 163
The Oath’s New VisionSurvival.That’s what it has come to.Not power. Not control.Just survival.The Oath was never meant to be what Julian made it. It was never meant to be a bloated empire weighed down by politics and personal greed. It was supposed to be a shield, a weapon in the right hands, a force that could shift the world before it collapsed under its own corruption.But somewhere along the way, it lost itself.And maybe, so did I.I sit in the war room, watching the faces around me. Mara, sharp-eyed and skeptical. Jackson is impassive but alert. The others—some loyal, some opportunistic, some waiting to see if I will fall like Julian did.I won’t.I can’t.“The Oath is changing,” I say, my voice cutting through the silence. “No more bureaucracy. No more excess.” I lean forward, locking eyes with each of them in turn. “We strip it down. We make it stronger. Smarter. Deadlier.”Mara’s lips press into a thin line. “And who decides what’s necessary?”I hold her gaze. “I do.”Ja
SHADOWS OF THE OAT CHAPTER 164
The ShiftI used to hesitate. Used to question. Used to care.Not anymore.The Oath doesn’t ask for doubt. It demands obedience, loyalty, action.So I give it. Without hesitation. Without fear.I press my boot against the man’s chest, pinning him to the ground as he gasps for breath. Blood seeps from the corner of his mouth, staining his teeth red as he struggles beneath me. His eyes—wild, desperate—lock onto mine, searching for mercy.He won’t find it."Y-You don’t have to do this," he chokes out.I smirk. "I know."And then I pull the trigger.The gunshot echoes in the empty warehouse, loud and final. His body jerks once before going limp. The metallic scent of blood fills the air. I stare down at him for a moment, at the life I just ended, but I feel nothing. No guilt. No regret.Only certainty.A slow clap breaks the silence. I turn my head to see Jackson leaning against a stack of crates, arms crossed, watching me with something between amusement and wariness."Efficient," he say
SHADOWS OF THE OAT CHAPTER 165
A Message in BloodI don’t hesitate.Hesitation is for men who still believe in right and wrong.For men who haven’t learned that in this world, there’s only one rule—power wins.The gun feels steady in my hand, an extension of my will. The weight of it is familiar, comfortable, reassuring. The target kneels before me, bound and gagged, his breathing shallow. He’s shaking. He knows what’s coming.Good.Fear is part of the message.Jackson stands to my left, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Theo is to my right, eyes sharp, always watching. They’re waiting for me to make the call. To prove—once again—that I’m the man they now answer to.I crouch down, gripping the man’s jaw, forcing him to look at me. His pupils are blown wide, sweat drips down his temple.“You knew the rules,” I say, voice calm. “You broke them.”He tries to speak, but the gag muffles his words. Pleas, excuses—none of it matters.I let go of his face and stand.He whimpers.I press the barrel of the gun against
SHADOWS OF THE OAT CHAPTER 166
Unrecognizable"You don’t have to do this."Jackson’s voice is steady, but there’s an urgency beneath it like he’s trying to hold something back. Something sharp. Something desperate.I don’t turn around right away. Instead, I pour myself a drink, letting the amber liquid swirl in the glass before taking a slow sip.The burn is familiar. Comforting.I finally glance at him, leaning against my desk, one eyebrow raised. "Do what?"Jackson exhales through his nose, running a hand through his hair. His usual easy smirk is gone, replaced by something closer to frustration. Maybe even concern."This." He gestures vaguely at me, but I know exactly what he means. "The executions. The message writing. The whole ‘Julian 2.0’ act."I let out a low chuckle, rolling the drink in my hand. "That’s what you think this is?" I turn fully to face him. "An act?"Jackson’s gaze hardens. "You tell me."I take another sip, savoring the burn. "You still don’t get it, do you?""You used to be different.""Dif
SHADOWS OF THE OAT CHAPTER 167
The Last LineThe blood on my hands is still warm.I flex my fingers, watching the crimson smear into the cracks of my skin. It seeps beneath my nails, thick and clinging, refusing to be washed away. The air is dense with the metallic scent of it, wrapping around me like a second skin.At my feet, the body lies still. The eyes are frozen in an expression of shock, lips parted slightly, as if he had been halfway through a final breath when my knife found its mark. He didn’t believe I would do it.That was his last mistake.I crouch down, tilting my head, studying the way the life has drained from his face. A week ago, I would’ve felt something—remorse, hesitation, maybe even disgust.Now, there is only silence.No guilt. No regret. Just the knowledge that it had to be done.Because that’s the truth, isn’t it?Everything is necessary.The Oath doesn’t ask for morality. It asks for results.And I deliver.Behind me, the door creaks open.I don’t need to turn around to know who it is."Yo
SHADOWS OF THE OAT CHAPTER 168
The Weight of SilenceSilence used to be a luxury.Now, it’s a weight.Heavy. Suffocating.It fills the room like a thick fog, pressing against my skin and sinking into my bones. The walls seem closer than before, the darkness stretching in ways it never did. I sit on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, fingers threaded together, staring at nothing.No dreams. No memories. No conscience.It should feel like freedom.It doesn’t.The air is still, but my mind isn’t. Somewhere in the distance, a clock ticks, steady and rhythmic. For a brief second, I wonder if I should smash it. End the sound. But it’s not the ticking that’s getting to me. It’s the spaces in between.The silence.I tell myself it doesn’t matter.That I don’t need dreams. That I don’t need memories.That I don’t need a conscience.And yet… something lingers.A whisper at the back of my mind. A ghost of something I refuse to name.Julian used to say that silence was the sound of a man with no regrets.So why does mine
SHADOWS OF THE OAT CHAPTER 169
The Test of LoyaltyThe air is thick with the scent of rain and gasoline. The city hums in the background, the distant wail of sirens echoing somewhere far enough away to be irrelevant. A streetlamp flickers above me, casting long, distorted shadows against the damp alley walls.I stand there, hands in my pockets, waiting.This isn’t a normal job.It’s a test.I can feel it in the way they watch me. In the silence that stretches too long between us. In the weight of the gun tucked against my ribs, heavy with expectation.The Oath doesn’t give second chances.And right now, they want to know if I truly belong.Mason stands a few feet to my right, arms crossed, unreadable. His gaze is sharp and calculating, the kind that measures a man’s worth in the span of a breath. He’s seen others fail before. He’s seen them hesitate, flinch—make that fatal mistake.I already know what he’s thinking.If I hesitate now, I’m as good as dead.If I don’t do this, I was never meant to be here in the firs
SHADOWS OF THE OAT CHAPTER 170
Julian’s LegacyThe leather chair is empty.But Julian is everywhere.His presence lingers in the walls, in the scent of aged whiskey and smoke that clings to the air. The desk, worn but solid, holds the weight of his decisions—some written in ink, most in blood. The bookshelves are untouched, lined with old volumes Julian never read but insisted on keeping. He always said appearances mattered more than substance.And now, here I stand.The room is quiet, yet it hums with history. It’s the same office where Julian taught me everything. Where he tested me. Where he built me into something unrecognizable.My gaze settles on the chair.The seat of power.It’s strange how something so ordinary—a chair, a desk, a room—can hold so much weight. But this space was never just an office. It was a throne. And Julian? A king.And now, he’s gone.And the crown—the burden—has passed to me.I step forward, my boots pressing against the hardwood floor with deliberate weight. Each step echoes, the sou
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CHAPTER 220
The Last ThoughtI stare at my reflection, my breath uneven, my eyes hollow. The glass is cracked—thin fractures running like veins across the surface, distorting my face. Fitting.The overhead light flickers, casting brief shadows across the room. It’s cold. Not the kind of cold that bites at your skin, but the kind that settles in your bones, that tells you something is coming. The kind that makes you wonder if it’s always been there, waiting.I press my palms against the sink, fingers curling against the porcelain. The weight in my chest isn’t fear. It isn’t regret. It’s something worse. A question with no answer.Behind me, the door creaks open. A slow, deliberate sound. My hand moves instinctively to my gun, but I already know who it is."That the last time you’re gonna check yourself out, Nathan?" a voice teases, rough with amusement.I smirk, though it feels foreign on my face. "Figured I should see what’s left of me before I walk out that door."Jackson leans against the doorf
CHAPTER 219
The End of the LineThe city is quiet. Too quiet.Not the kind of quiet that comes with peace, but the kind that signals something is about to break. It settles over the skyline, heavy, waiting. The streets are empty, but the ghosts of what I’ve built, of what I’ve destroyed, linger in the alleyways and shadowed corners.I stand at the edge of it all, watching from the rooftop of an old high-rise, the cold wind whipping against my face. Below me, the pieces are moving, each player stepping into position, some thinking they’re the ones holding the strings. They aren’t.They never were.Jackson shifts beside me, his hands buried deep in his pockets. He’s restless. Always is before things go south.“You sure about this?” he asks.I don’t answer right away. Because there’s no easy answer. No right one, either.He sighs, shaking his head. “You always do this. Get in too deep and think you can control every variable. But this—” he gestures to the streets below, to the quiet before the storm
CHAPTER 218
The Final MoveThe city is waiting.It doesn't know it yet, but the tides are shifting. Power doesn’t disappear; it transforms and morphs into something new, something unrecognizable until it’s already taken hold. I’ve seen it happen too many times to count. This time, I’m the one pulling the strings.This time, it ends on my terms.I stand in the shadows of an empty warehouse, the scent of oil and dust thick in the air. The city hums outside, its lights flickering through the gaps in the rusted metal walls. Jackson stands beside me, his body tense, arms crossed. He’s waiting for me to explain, to tell him what comes next.I let the silence stretch before I finally speak.“We’re not burning it down.”Jackson’s head snaps toward me, eyes narrowing. “What?”I meet his stare, my voice steady. “We’re not wiping the board clean. We’re flipping it.”For the first time in a long time, Jackson looks unsure. He shifts his weight, jaw tightening as he processes my words. “You said yourself—this
CHAPTER 217
The Final CrossroadsThe city hums beneath me, restless and alive. From this rooftop, I see everything—the neon glow stretching into the horizon, the winding streets below, the fractured heartbeat of a place that never stops moving. A world of light and shadow, built on secrets, power, and debts that can never truly be repaid.The air is thick with the scent of rain and asphalt, the faintest trace of gasoline lingering in the wind. It’s the smell of something on the verge of combustion, of a city always teetering on the edge of chaos. I tighten my grip on the cigarette between my fingers, watching the ember glow in the dark, a tiny heartbeat against the cold night. I don’t smoke. Not really. I just like the way it feels—holding something that’s burning, something that’s alive for just a little while before it fades into nothing.I should walk away.I should let it all burn.But I don’t.Because no matter how much I tell myself that I don’t care anymore, that none of it matters, the tr
CHAPTER 216
The Last Time He Sees RileyThe air is colder than I expected. Maybe that’s fitting. Maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be.She’s already there when I arrive, standing near the edge of the pier, arms folded tight against the wind. The city sprawls behind her, all light and noise, but out here, it’s just the quiet lapping of the water and the space between us.Riley doesn’t turn when I approach.“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she says, her voice carrying over the water, calm but unreadable.I stop a few feet away. Close enough to feel the weight of her presence. Far enough to know I shouldn’t get any closer.“Neither was I,” I admit.She exhales a slow, steady breath. “You look the same.”“So do you.”A lie.There’s something different in her now. Something more guarded, more distant. Like she’s finally built the walls she should’ve had when we were younger.Like she’s learned.She turns, finally meeting my gaze, and for a moment, it’s just us. No past, no future. Just this one sliver of t
CHAPTER 215
The Fall of KingsThe thing about power is that it never learns.It moves through different hands, dresses itself in new suits, and speaks in fresh voices. But underneath, it’s always the same: greed, arrogance, and the inevitable mistake of thinking you can control what was never meant to be tamed.Ronan believed he could do it differently.I watch from the shadows as he proves himself wrong.---The city is quieter these days. Not because the storm has passed, but because it’s waiting to break.I see it in the way people move, the way deals are whispered instead of spoken. Ronan’s reign is still fresh, but already, the cracks are showing.And he doesn’t even realize it.Or maybe he does. Maybe he’s just too proud to admit it.I’m standing outside a high-rise downtown, watching from across the street. Up there, behind floor-to-ceiling windows, Ronan is playing king. A meeting’s in progress—his men, his allies, his problems.He thinks he has time. He thinks he’s in control.He doesn’t
CHAPTER 214
The Last WarningThe city breathes differently when men like Ronan step into power.It’s a slow shift, subtle. The same streets, the same lights flickering over cracked pavement, the same late-night murmurs of business and betrayal. But there’s a tension now, a new weight pressing down like the first signs of a storm.I know it because I’ve felt it before. I did it before.Which is why I know exactly how this ends.---I picked the place. Neutral ground. A quiet, high-end bar tucked away in the heart of the city, the kind where power plays out in whispered deals and expensive whiskey. A place where men like Ronan feel at home.I sit in a booth at the far end, back to the wall, watching the entrance. He’s late. Not long enough to be disrespectful, just enough to establish control. Classic move.When he finally steps inside, he moves like he owns the place.Not in the way Cormac did, with brute force and intimidation. No, Ronan is more refined. His presence doesn’t demand attention—it i
CHAPTER 213
The New ProtégéThe city doesn’t rest, and neither do the people hungry for its power.Cormac is gone. Locked away, his empire dismantled, his influence reduced to nothing but whispers in the dark. And yet, before the dust has even settled, another one steps forward. It always happens this way.A cycle. A curse.I watch from the rooftop as the meeting below unfolds. A dozen figures sit around a long table in a high-rise suite, their silhouettes blurred by tinted windows. But it’s the one at the head of the table that has my full attention.Young. Too young.Sharp suit, sharper eyes. He moves like he owns the room—because he does. The way they lean in when he speaks, the way they nod, hesitant but obedient. He’s already in control.He reminds me of someone.Me.I exhale slowly, pressing my earpiece. "Evelyn, you getting this?"Her voice crackles through. "Loud and clear. Looks like we found our new kingpin."I don’t respond right away, just watch as he steeples his fingers, listening i
CHAPTER 212
The War That Never EndsThe Oath had fallen, but the world didn’t change. Not really.Power is a living thing—it doesn’t disappear; it mutates. It slithers, molds itself into new hands, new faces, new kings and queens who claim they’ll do better. I watch from the shadows as history repeats itself, over and over, like a bad song stuck on a loop.I blend into the dimly lit alleyway, my coat pulled tight against the cold bite of the city. Rain drips from the rusted gutters, forming puddles at my feet, but I barely notice. Across the street, men shake hands under the glow of a flickering street lamp, sealing deals in the same way their predecessors did—with quiet, well-dressed ruthlessness. Different players, same game.I should walk away.I promised myself I would.But ghosts don’t rest easy, and the ones I carry are especially loud.A gust of wind blows through the alley, ruffling my hair as I step back into the shadows. My ribs still ache from my last fight, and my knuckles are a canva
