The silence in the hospital room was heavy. Still. But not peaceful.
Marcus stared at the ceiling, his thoughts circling like vultures.
He wasn't sure what was happening in Albion—his kingdom, his home. Had they found his body? Had they mourned their crown prince or swept him under the stone like another war casualty?
He didn't know.He couldn't know.
Because right now, he was here. Alive, but in the wrong skin.
This wasn't his body.It belonged to someone else.Leonard Wembley.
The youngest son of a powerful man in a world of concrete towers and glowing screens. A world that didn't believe in swords or thrones. A world where being silent meant being forgotten.
And Leo—poor Leo—had been forgotten long before he died.
Marcus touched his chest gently.
There was no wound. No stab mark. But he remembered the feeling—Leo's final moments. The sudden grip. The choking. The helpless panic as his lungs gave out.
He didn't die by accident. Someone murdered him. In his own home.
A flash of Leo's memories surfaced—dim corridors, cold stares, a father's voice too loud, too tired. No one had listened when Leo cried. No one noticed when he vanished.
And now Marcus was here.
He didn't ask for this second chance. But he wouldn't waste it.
"I'll find out who did this," he whispered. "I'll make them pay."
The rage inside him pulsed—not just his own, but Leo's too. A deep, aching grief buried in silence.
They didn't just kill a boy.They tried to erase him.
Marcus wouldn't let them.
Hours Later – Still in the Hospital Room
The sun had dipped low, casting amber light across the hospital walls. Marcus lay back on the bed, resting his body, calming his thoughts.
He needed strength. Time. A plan.
Leo's body was weak, but not hopeless. With effort, discipline, and training—he could rebuild it. Six months, maybe less. That was enough to prepare.
This body may be Leo's... but the will inside it is mine.
Suddenly, the door opened with a sharp click.
Marcus turned his head just as two people entered the room. One tall. One quiet.
The man in front looked to be in his fifties. Dark suit, expensive shoes, gold watch. His presence filled the room like a cold wind.
Behind him, a woman—sharp, clean-cut in a black blazer and white blouse. Her eyes didn't move unless needed.
Marcus recognized them instantly. Paul Wembley, Leonard's father. And his personal secretary, Lucy.
"Finally decided to wake up, huh?" Paul said, folding his arms. His voice was dry. Tired. Irritated.
Marcus sat up slowly.
"...Dad," he said carefully.
The word burned in his throat.
Paul scoffed. "Don't you dare call me that."
Marcus blinked. "What?"
"You're lucky to be breathing," Paul said, voice rising. "Do you even realize the scandal you almost caused?"
"What are you talking about?"
Paul's eyes narrowed. "The drugs, Leonard."
Marcus frowned. "Drugs?"
"You overdosed!" Paul snapped. "In my house. Do you know what would've happened if the maids had found you any later? The media would've torn us apart!"
"I didn't—" Marcus began.
"Save it." Paul raised a hand. "I don't care what excuse you're about to make. I've been patient. I let you hide in your room, waste your life behind screens, hoping you'd grow up. But now you pull this?"
"I didn't take anything," Marcus said firmly.
Paul didn't even blink. "As of now, you're out."
The room seemed to grow colder.
"You'll be discharged in a day. Lucy will give you the papers, your things, and a one-time transfer. That's it. You're out of the family, out of the house, and don't even think about begging your siblings. They've already been told to ignore you."
"…I—"
"I said you're done!" Paul's voice cracked across the room like a whip.
Marcus stared back at him, silent.
This man had just exiled his own son without a shred of hesitation. No warmth. No sadness. Just annoyance, as if cutting Leo off was little more than business strategy.
Paul turned to Lucy. "Make sure none of this reaches the press. I won't have my family name stained."
"Understood, sir," Lucy replied.
And just like that, they turned and walked out, leaving the room silent once more.
After the Storm
Marcus sat still, the tension slowly unwinding from his shoulders.
But inside—he was shaking.
Not from fear.
From rage.
He stared at his hands. Pale. Slightly trembling.
Why was he trembling?
Then he realized—it wasn't him.It was Leo.
Even now, Leo's soul lingered faintly in this body. Even now, the boy recoiled at his father's voice. Even now, he mourned the love he never received.
Marcus closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
"I'm sorry, Leo. You were never weak. You were never worthless. You just didn't have anyone to fight for you."
He placed a hand over his chest.
"But now you do."
The trembling stopped. A warmth settled in its place.
Leo's soul wasn't gone. Not entirely.
And that was a mistake the killer would come to regret.
Marcus leaned back against the headboard, eyes narrowed in thought.
So this was their cover story. Drugs. Convenient. Shameful. Just believable enough to bury the truth.
Someone inside that house was cleaning up a mess. Which meant they were scared.Good.Fear is something I know how to follow.
He let a smile pull at his lips—slow and sharp.
The killer was a few steps ahead... for now. But I don't need to run. I hunt.And when I do? There won't be time to scream.