Chapter : 747

He stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the street, a deliberate act of turning his back to her, of showing that he was not a threat. “This changes nothing between us. Your secrets are your own. Here, in this clinic, you are my indispensable assistant, and I am grateful for your help. That is all that matters.”

It was a strategic olive branch, an offer to return to the comfortable status quo, to let her keep the secrets she still held. He had the information he needed; pressing further would be a mistake.

He felt her presence behind him. “Thank you, Zayn,” she said softly, and he could hear the genuine relief in her voice. “My work… my true work… requires a certain level of anonymity. It is a matter of life and death.”

Her ‘true work.’ The phrase was another tantalizing clue. She wasn't just a compassionate attendant. She was an operative of some kind, engaged in a clandestine mission in the city’s slums. The puzzle of Sumaiya had just grown deeper, more complex, and infinitely more dangerous.

“Then I will not ask any more questions,” he said, turning to face her with a small, reassuring smile. “Your work is your own. Our work is here.” He gestured to the empty clinic, to the shelves of herbs, to the world they had built together.

She returned his smile, the tension finally leaving her shoulders. A new, more honest understanding had been forged between them. She knew he was more than a doctor. He knew she was more than an attendant. They were both ghosts, wearing masks, fighting their own secret wars. And in this small, quiet clinic, they had found an unlikely, and perhaps temporary, sanctuary.

Lloyd’s mind, however, was already racing far beyond the walls of the clinic. The information Sumaiya had provided was a key, a master key that could potentially unlock the entire kingdom for him. The Royal Palace. The whispers of the great houses. His plan, which had been a vague, long-term ambition, now had a clear, direct path forward.

He had come to Rizvan to hide, to survive. But Sumaiya had just inadvertently handed him the intelligence he needed to do far more than that. She had given him the key to an offensive. The hunt for the Lilith Stones, the acquisition of his ultimate weapon, the fulfillment of his date with a certain fate—it all seemed possible now. Sumaiya, his unwanted companion, his mysterious assistant, had just become the most valuable strategic asset he possessed. He just had to figure out how to use her without her ever knowing she was being used. The doctor’s work was done for the day. The General’s had just begun.

---

The warmth and fragile trust of the clinic felt a world away. Hours later, Lloyd stood on a windswept rooftop overlooking the city’s harbor, the salty air a cold, clean shock to his senses after the thick, human smells of the slum. The moon was a sharp, silver sickle in the ink-black sky, and the lights of the city below were a sprawling constellation of man-made stars.

This was his other world, the world of shadows and secrets. The persona of Doctor Zayn had been shed like a snake’s skin, left behind in the quiet clinic. Here, under the cold, indifferent gaze of the moon, he was the commander, the strategist, the Major General.

He did not have to wait long. A shadow detached itself from a deeper shadow behind a chimney stack, and Ken Park materialized at his side. He moved with an impossible, liquid silence, his large frame making no sound on the rooftop tiles. He was a ghost of a different sort, a creature of pure, lethal competence.

“Young Master,” Ken said, his voice a low, respectful murmur that was almost lost in the whisper of the wind.

“Report,” Lloyd commanded, his own voice now stripped of all warmth, a tool of pure, clinical inquiry.

“The targets, Jager and Kael, remain dormant,” Ken began, his report as precise and economical as his movements. “Their trail from the border went cold, as you predicted. They have established a safe house in the merchant’s district, a rented room above a noisy tavern. They are attempting to leverage local underworld contacts to find any trace of your passage. Their methods are crude. They are loud, arrogant, and they are leaving a trail of loose-lipped informants that my network is already consolidating. They believe you are heading to Zakaria and are simply waiting for you to resurface.”

Chapter : 748

Lloyd absorbed the information with a grim satisfaction. His feint had worked perfectly. The assassins were chasing a ghost, their attention focused on the wrong city, the wrong man. This gave him the time and the operational security he needed.

“Excellent,” he said. “Maintain surveillance. I want to know everyone they speak to, every coin they spend. They are the secondary objective for now. I have a new, primary mission for your network.”

He turned to face his retainer, the moonlight carving his aristocratic features into a mask of cold, hard lines. “I have made contact with a new asset. An individual with direct access to the Royal Palace.”

Ken’s expression remained impassive, but Lloyd could sense the flicker of surprise in his aura. Ken was a master of intelligence; he knew the value of such a source.

“Her name is Sumaiya,” Lloyd continued. “Her cover is that of a personal attendant to Lady Anissa, the Queen’s cousin. The cover is deep, but I suspect it is not the entire truth. She is… more than she appears. However, her access is genuine. She has provided me with an opening, a potential path into the highest echeludes of Zakarian society.”

He paused, letting the weight of his next words settle. “The whispers I have been hearing, the ones that led me to this city in the first place, concern the House of Qadir. The rumors state that the heir, the only son of Lord Timur Qadir, is dying of a mysterious wasting sickness.”

Lord Timur Qadir. The name carried immense weight. He was not just a powerful lord; he was the Master of the Royal Armories, the man who controlled the kingdom’s entire military-industrial complex. His influence was second only to the King himself. The sickness of his only heir was not just a family tragedy; it was a matter of state security, a potential crisis of succession that could destabilize the entire kingdom.

“The official story from the palace is that the young lord is merely suffering from a prolonged, seasonal fever,” Lloyd said, his voice dropping lower. “The healers have been silenced, the rumors suppressed. The family is projecting an image of strength and stability. But if the whispers are true, they are desperate. And desperate people are vulnerable.”

He looked at Ken, his eyes gleaming with a cold, strategic light. “This is where my new identity becomes a weapon. A miracle-working doctor from the provinces, a man who cures the incurable. If the story of my successes in the Lower Coil were to reach the ears of a desperate noble family… it could be an invitation.”

Ken understood instantly. The plan was audacious, a high-stakes infiltration disguised as an act of mercy. “You intend to offer your services to Lord Qadir.”

“I intend to make him beg for them,” Lloyd corrected. “But first, I need confirmation. The whispers are not enough. I need hard intelligence. I need to know the truth of the heir’s condition. I need to know every detail—the symptoms, the timeline, the names of every healer and alchemist who has tried and failed. I need to know the full extent of their desperation.”

He locked his gaze on his retainer. “Your network is still in its infancy here in Zakaria. This will be its first true test. I need this information, Ken. And I need it by tomorrow night. Can you do it?”

Ken Park did not hesitate. He did not speak of the difficulty, of the immense risk of trying to penetrate the wall of secrecy around one of the kingdom’s most powerful families. He simply gave a single, sharp nod.

“It will be done, Young Master.”

With those words, he once again melted into the shadows, leaving Lloyd alone on the rooftop.

Lloyd stared out at the sleeping city, the pieces of his grand, intricate plan clicking into place. Sumaiya was the unwitting key, the social lubricant who could carry his reputation from the slums to the palace. The dying Qadir heir was the lock, the point of entry into the heart of the kingdom’s power structure. And he, the humble Doctor Zayn, was the master locksmith, ready to turn that key.

He felt the familiar, exhilarating thrill of a complex operation coming together, the beautiful, cold music of a perfect strategy. His trip to Zakaria had been foretold as a date with a ‘certain fate.’ He was beginning to realize that fate was not something that happened to you. It was something you built, piece by painful, meticulous piece. And he was building his with the precision of a master architect.

---