The clock on the wall of the St. Petersburg suite didn't tick; it glided, a silent predator marking the passage of time in the dark. It was 5:00 a.m. The room was bathed in the pale, pre-dawn glow of a city that never truly slept, but here, inside the fortress of the Volkov Manor, the air was still...heavy with the scent of the sandalwood oil Viktor had used on Evan only hours before.

Viktor stood by the bed, his silhouette cutting a jagged line against the dim light. He watched the rhythmic rise and fall of Evan’s chest. The "Little Spirit" looked so fragile in sleep, his fingers curled into the fur of Toto the bunny.