"I've seen that face before…" Miles murmured, eyes locked on the portrait.
"That would be my father," came a voice from behind—deep, assured, composed.
Miles and Celina turned toward the source.
Standing at the entrance of the hallway was Victor Wraithbourne.
He wore a charcoal gray mandarin-collared suit, sharp but not flashy. His posture was firm, shoulders square, and his presence filled the room with quiet authority. His salt-and-pepper hair was slicked back neatly, and a short beard, carefully trimmed, framed his face. His eyes—gray like a clouded sky—were calm but calculating, like a man who had spent decades seeing beyond what others merely looked at.
Victor studied the young man in front of him.
Miles stood tall, his frame lean and powerful, dressed in a black half-coat over a dark shirt, his presence as still and collected as a soldier trained not just to kill, but to command. There was no need for noise around Miles—his aura spoke volumes. Victor saw Edward's sharp jawline in him, Elena's calm in the eyes, and something else layered beneath: steel forged in fire.
"Here you are, Dad," Celina said, stepping forward gently. "Miles, meet my father."
Miles dipped his head in a respectful nod and extended his hand slightly.
"Hello, Uncle Victor," he said with quiet grace.
Victor nodded, lips lifting ever so slightly. "Hello, Miles… you've grown up."
He gestured toward the sitting room behind him. "Come, sit."
Celina gave Miles a light smile before slipping away silently to give them space.
Victor and Miles settled into two velvet-lined armchairs across from each other. A quiet hung in the air, respectful but loaded.
"You probably don't remember me," Victor said, looking at him with a nostalgic smile. "You were just a boy the last time I saw you. Your father, Edward, and your mother Elena were my juniors back in high school. We had a very close circle back then. Friends, real ones."
Miles gave a small nod. "My mother's told me stories. About all of you."
Victor leaned back slightly, fingers clasped together. "Now you're grown. Alive. Sitting in front of me. There are things I want to tell you—many things. But… before that… I have questions."
Miles met his gaze directly, unflinching. "I understand, Uncle. You saw the car. You know I'm around your daughter. You must have questions. And doubts."
Victor studied him a moment longer, then asked, plainly:
"First of all… are you associated with them? I mean… the Graveyard?"
Victor's expression remained composed, but there was a shift—an almost imperceptible tightening of the jaw, a flicker in the eyes. Something Miles said had struck a chord.
Before answering his question, Miles leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharp and direct.
"Before I give you that answer, Uncle… let me ask you something."
Victor nodded, allowing it. "Go on."
"What do you know about Graveyard?"
Victor sat back, fingers tapping once against the armrest. "Just rumors," he admitted. "Stories. Terror. Whispers in the dark. Most people assume it's just a myth designed to keep certain people in line."
Miles's eyes narrowed slightly—disappointed, but not surprised.
He didn't speak for a moment, then finally exhaled. "That's always the case," he muttered. "The Graveyard never cared about rumors."
He looked Victor in the eye, and his voice turned solemn.
"The Graveyard is not what you think, Uncle. It never was."
Victor listened intently.
"It's not some underground gang. It's not a syndicate of shadows out for power. The Graveyard… was and still is this country's greatest hidden asset. Where the government's hands are tied, Graveyard acts. Where the law cannot reach, Graveyard steps in. They exist where existence itself is denied."
He leaned back now, calm but certain.
"I don't need to explain too much. Graveyard doesn't care about its image. It doesn't exist in files or history books."
Victor's lips parted slightly, but he said nothing yet.
Miles continued.
"And if you're asking whether I am a part of it—yes, I am."His voice didn't waver. "They saved me from the abductors, and took me as a child. Gave me a name. A place. A purpose. They raised me like one of their own. I trained under them, bled for them, and became what they made me."
A pause.
"But I don't work for them anymore. I'm retired."
Victor stayed still for a moment. Then gave a faint, slow nod. "I see… then I suppose I never truly knew anything about them."
Miles looked at him, then spoke more softly—almost curiously.
"Well, uncle… you can ask your father—Celina's grandfather. He may be the only man who can clear you doubts."
Victor blinked. "You… know my father?"
Miles shrugged. "Not really. I don't even know his real name. Just… a code. A presence. He served as a General in the provincial army."
Victor straightened slightly. "That's right. He did."
Miles's eyes sharpened.
"I worked for some of his operations. I didn't know it at the time, of course. But when I saw his portrait earlier…"He glanced toward the hall. "That same presence. That same weight. I've felt it before—in the field."
Victor fell silent, caught between memory and realization.
A storm was gathering.
And for once, both the soldier and the politician knew it was time to talk.
Miles sat still, absorbing it all—every admission, every regret, every truth long buried beneath the weight of time.
He leaned forward slightly, his voice steady but softened by the ache beneath.
"I had problems with my memories," he began."The Graveyard found my mother... It took seventeen years to find my home."
He paused, meeting Victor's gaze directly, unblinking.
"I'm not here to stir up old ghosts. I'm here for peace—to take care of my family. But… the condition here, Uncle Victor..."Miles's voice dropped an octave. "It's not good, is it?"
The way he said it wasn't a question. It was an accusation cloaked in concern. He knew Victor had answers—more than he was letting on.
Victor's face shifted with the weight of guilt and memory. He didn't deflect.
"I'm sorry, Miles," he said softly. "After your father died… I should have done more. I could've taken you in. But your mother, Elena—she was proud. She didn't accept help easily."
He looked away for a moment, his voice tightening.
"Then… you were kidnapped. Just like that. Vanished."
Miles saw the flicker of grief in the older man's eyes.
"I tried to find you. I really did. I almost reached you once—got close."Victor's hands clenched slightly as he recalled the moment."But then I got a call. I still remember the voice. Cold. Sharp. He told me to stop digging. Said if I took another step… Celina would be next."
Miles's jaw clenched.
Victor nodded slowly, shame washing over him."She was just a little girl. I didn't know what else to do. Then the call ended… and I was told you were dead."
His voice faltered for a moment. Then he steadied himself.
"So I protected your mother the only way I could. From the shadows. I helped her secretly… made sure she stayed safe. Until she met Daniel and found something stable again."
He smiled faintly, pain still in his eyes.
"She never gave up on you, Miles. Not for a second. She used to say—'he's out there, and one day he'll find his way home.' And now… she must be so happy. She was right all along."
Miles felt something stir in his chest—a raw mix of pain and gratitude. His voice cracked slightly, the rare weight of emotion behind it.
"Thank you, Uncle Victor…"He looked away for a breath, then returned his eyes to Victor's.
"The fact that you're telling me all this… it puts my mind at ease. Just a little. But it means something."
His tone turned quieter, more reverent.
"Thank you… for watching over her. Even if it had to be from the shadows."
There was silence again. A silence filled not with awkwardness, but with something deeper.
Two generations scarred by loss… finally connecting over the truth neither could change, but both could finally face.
Victor's voice was low, steady—but beneath the calm was something trembling. Regret. Memory. Fear.
He stared down at the old photograph in his hand—a picture aged by time, its corners soft, the colors slightly faded. He handed it to Miles with reverence.
"You must know this already…" Victor began, his eyes not meeting Miles's yet."But your father, Edward… he didn't die in an accident."
Miles's grip on the photo tightened slightly, his gaze locked on the faces: five young men, dressed in uniform blazers, smiles frozen in youth and privilege.
"Back in high school, we had a group—five boys," Victor continued."All from well-off families. Groomed to inherit businesses, empires. We were like brothers."
Miles looked at the picture.
Victor pointed."That's Joe. Oliver. William. Edward. And me."
He paused a moment, letting the weight of the names settle.
"Edward and your mother got married just after graduation. Sister Elena was carrying you at the time. And Edward… he stepped up. Took full responsibility. Your grandfather supported him. He believed in him."
Victor's face darkened."Then… your grandfather vanished. No warning. No trace. The official story was a sudden retirement, but that was a lie. We all knew it. He just disappeared."
Miles's brows furrowed. He said nothing, listening carefully.
"And because of that disappearance, Edward became the sole heir of the Sterling empire. He was just a boy—barely in his twenties—but he handled it with grace."Victor sighed. "I was abroad at the time, studying business law. I kept in touch, but…" he trailed off, then looked at Miles directly.
"Back home, your father had invested in a drug project. Something revolutionary—meant to treat cancer. Joe, Oliver, and William—my old friends—they were all studying at St. Patrick's University here in the city. They helped fund it, worked on it."
Miles's expression sharpened as the dots began to connect.
"Edward used to tell me little things, late at night. About research breakthroughs. But one day… he told me something had gone wrong. That the drug had failed. Something about… side effects, or instability. He was shaken. Said it needed to be buried."
Victor's voice grew tight.
"Within a week, the Sterling empire collapsed. The media tore it apart. Fraud accusations, financial audits, lawsuits... but we both knew Edward wasn't a fraud. He was set up."
He closed his eyes briefly.
"The day before his death… he called me. Sounded frantic. Said the drug wasn't a failure—it had become something else. Something dangerous. And that it had fallen into the wrong hands."
Victor clenched his fists.
"Hours later… he was hit by a truck. A clean, cold hit. No witnesses. No real investigation."
Miles's heart was pounding now.
"I returned to the city that very day," Victor continued, pain flickering behind his eyes, "only to find that Joe… William… Oliver… they were all dead too. One after the other. Accidents, suicides, sudden illness—every one of them, gone."
He looked at Miles now with grim certainty.
"It wasn't coincidence. It was a cleanup."
Silence stretched.
Miles stared at the photograph again.
Five boys. Five futures.
And now only one remained.
"The drug," Miles said quietly. "Do you remember its name?"
Victor shook his head. "Edward never told me. But whatever it was… it didn't die with him. It just changed hands."
Miles sat back, eyes clouded, thoughts racing.
A cancer drug… a dangerous mutation… a conspiracy to erase the truth… and a childhood shattered by more than just kidnapping.
This wasn't just about revenge or redemption anymore.
It was about finishing what Edward Sterling started—and uncovering the truth that cost him everything.