Kai was in the middle of rummaging through a wooden wardrobe, pulling out heavy wool coats and thick tactical trousers, when Quinn decided to drop the second bombshell of the night. It was a casual remark, delivered with the kind of forced nonchalance that only made the revelation feel more violent.
"Oh, and I almost forgot," Quinn said, leaning against the doorframe of the bedroom. "There is a good chance Hal is still alive, too."
The sound of rustling fabric stopped instantly. Kai froze, his hand still gripping a leather jacket. For three long seconds, the room was silent enough to hear the dying embers of the fireplace in the next room. Then, Kai turned around slowly, his face twisted into an expression of pure, unadulterated disbelief.
"Excuse me," Kai said, his voice dangerously low. "What the fuck did you just say?"
Quinn shifted his weight, looking at his boots. "Well, yeah. I intended to let you know about this after... well, you know. After we settled the vodka and the gay revelations."
"You should have said this first!" Kai's voice cracked like a whip as his composure finally snapped. He threw the jacket onto the bed and took a predatory step toward Quinn. "Hal is dead, Quinn. His family told us he was dead. They said it right to our fucking faces! We had a funeral! We mourned him!"
Quinn didn't flinch. He looked Kai in the eye, his expression flat and weary. "I don't know about the funeral or what his parents lied about. I'm just putting the pieces together. Someone... something... told me that two out of the three of you were still alive. That left only two possibilities besides you."
He paused, the memory of a cold graveyard flashing in his mind. "We were all there when Ash lost his fight with cancer. We watched the life leave him. We all stood there and watched them lower him into the dirt. We watched him get buried, Kai. There was no coming back from that. So, if someone else is alive, the only answer is Hal."
Kai's chest heaved as he struggled to process the logic. The anger was still there, but it was being drowned out by a wave of confusion. "Where the hell did you even get this news? And even if this is somehow true, why the fuck would Hal do this? After everything we went through, why didn't he call us? Why didn't he leave us a single fucking thing? Not a note, not a text, absolutely shit. He just let us believe he was a corpse."
"I don't know," Quinn admitted, his own voice tinged with a similar bitterness. "But the information is solid. The same source that pointed me to your doorstep in the middle of a Russian winter is the one pointing to him. As for why he disappeared... we'll have to ask the man himself."
Kai sat down on the edge of the bed, burying his face in his hands. He took a few deep, shuddering breaths, trying to force his heart rate back to normal. "This is too much for one day," he muttered through his fingers. "Far too much. Careful, or I'll have a goddamn stroke and die right here. How are we even supposed to find him?"
Quinn straightened up, a small, knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Just leave that to me."
As if on cue, the front door of the house rattled—a strange, unsettling sound like the house itself was shifting its bones. Kai jumped at the noise, his eyes darting toward the hallway, but before he could say another word, Quinn reached out and grabbed his arm.
"Follow me first," Quinn commanded. "Questions later."
He pulled Kai toward the front door and threw it open. They didn't step out into the frozen, dark streets of Russia. Instead, they were hit by a blinding, golden radiance that made them both wince and shield their eyes.
When Kai's vision finally cleared, he was too stunned to even curse. The sub-zero temperature had vanished, replaced by the mild, damp air of a late afternoon. The sky above was a soft, overcast grey, and the scent of wet grass and ancient stone filled his lungs.
Quinn looked around, trying to get his bearings, until Kai pointed toward a wooden signpost near a manicured hedge.
"Hampshire," Kai whispered, his voice trembling with a mix of awe and terror. "We are in England. What the fuck, bro? We were just in the Ural Mountains."
Quinn didn't give him time to spiral. He could see it—the silver thread. It was here too, shimmering against the green backdrop of the English countryside, stretching toward a massive estate in the distance. He grabbed Kai's hand again and began to lead him down the road.
After a short walk, they arrived at the gates of a sprawling manor. It was a stunning piece of architecture—a classic Victorian silhouette that had been seamlessly integrated with modern, minimalist glass and steel. It was old money meeting new power, a fortress of sophistication that made Quinn's hoodie and Kai's leather jacket look like rags.
They looked at each other, shared a silent nod of confirmation, and rang the bell.
A few moments later, a man in a perfectly tailored suit—an image of the quintessential English butler—opened the heavy oak door. He looked them up and down with a clinical, unimpressed gaze. "Can I help you gentlemen? This is a private residence."
Before Quinn could speak, Kai stepped forward, his eyes burning with a renewed fire. "Tell your master that Kai and Quinn are here. Tell him we've come to settle the score."
The butler's eyebrows twitched, a tiny crack in his professional mask. He narrowed his eyes at the two disheveled young men, then bowed his head slightly. "Please wait here while I inform the Master of the house."
He disappeared inside, leaving the door slightly ajar.
Quinn looked at Kai and let out a long, heavy sigh, covering his face with his hand. "Really? 'Settle the score'?"
Kai shrugged, his jaw set. "What? I got straight to the point, didn't I?"
A few minutes passed before the butler returned. This time, he opened the door wide, his expression unreadable. "Master Hal is expecting you in the study. Please, follow me."
They followed the man through the mansion, and the sheer opulence of the place was staggering. The garden they passed was filled with rare, vibrant flowers, and the stone pillars of the main hall were adorned with intricate, hand-carved details that stood out against the sleek, modern lines of the interior. Every corner of the house screamed wealth—the kind of wealth that creates a barrier between a person and the rest of the world.
Finally, they reached a pair of double doors at the end of a long, sun-drenched hallway. The butler opened them, revealing a room that was impeccably organized. It was a space of leather-bound books, polished mahogany, and high-end technology, yet it felt cold, almost sterile.
In the center of the room, a high-backed velvet chair was positioned with its back toward them, facing a large window that overlooked the misty English hills.
Quinn stepped forward, his heart pounding against his ribs like a trapped bird. The silence in the room was absolute, broken only by the faint ticking of a clock that felt far too much like the one in Russia.
"Is that you, Hal?" Quinn asked, his voice echoing through the luxury of the room.
The chair began to rotate, slowly and deliberately, revealing the man who had been a ghost for years.