Both he and Marcus were sculpted by Raven Island’s crucible. Memories of the experience evoked a hellish panorama.

Victor was ice and cruelty incarnate, his legacy offering no quarter simply due to their blood ties.

Rain poured relentlessly, cascading over tens of thousands of acres of dense woodland, where they grappled with ferocious beasts armed only with their bare hands and where bullets mimicking raindrops sought their flesh. A narrative of cruelty could alone capture life on Raven Island. There was no concept of mercy within the training crucible. The sole preoccupation was survival—a yearning to emerge from this infernal expanse and be liberated from its clutches.

Death equated to forfeiture.

Bruce possessed little doubt that, were he and Marcus to perish during training, not a tear would grace Victor’s eye. In his eyes, fledglings who couldn’t endure the crucible weren’t worthy of claiming the status of his grandsons.

A N G E L A ‘s L I B R A R Y

prowess. Within the team, he unfailingly excelled. As

were moments when jealousy stirred within Bruce toward Marcus. Both products of the Thomas lineage’s cultivation, they navigated a shared upbringing. However, Bruce’s stature seemed perennially

felt invisible,

private chamber hosted an ongoing dinner affair. It was Mr. Fairclough who extended

stroll, yet her gaze inadvertently darted inside, causing her heart to

rapid heartbeat. Hastily, she

He eclipsed even the most renowned of movie

and Mr. Fairclough finally

driven by Mr. Fairclough’s

Thomas, until next

response. He surveyed the surroundings but couldn’t

indulged in wine—an imprudent choice given his

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