It was already dusk when Timothy, Kelvin, and John arrived at the estate.

The sky had begun to darken, stretching purple and gold over the wide stretch of land before them. The long driveway curved through the compound, lined with trimmed hedges, old trees, and iron lamp posts that had just begun to glow.

Beyond the gates, the Anderson Estate spread out like a kingdom that had seen better days.

There were cottages scattered across the land, each one sitting apart from the other with enough distance to suggest privacy-and enough order to suggest control. Beyond them, horses grazed lazily in fenced pastures, their dark shapes moving against the fading light. Farther ahead stood the mansion itself, large and imposing, its stone walls catching the last traces of sunset.

It was beautiful.

But not peaceful.

Kelvin could feel it in the air.

The place carried silence the way a graveyard did.

"Welcome to the Anderson Estate," Timothy said as he stepped out of the car.

Kelvin stepped out after him and glanced around the vast compound, taking in the cottages, the pasture, the stables in the distance, and the large mansion up ahead.

"Is this it?" he asked.

Timothy and John glanced at each other, both caught off guard.

Kelvin turned toward them.

"I expected more."

Timothy chuckled.

"For now, this is it," he said. "We used to have more land when our previous leader was alive, but ever since the attack, we lost most of it to our enemies."

He moved closer to Kelvin and tapped him lightly on the shoulder.

"The land may not be what it used to be, but do not underestimate our strength. We are still the most feared clan, and our enemies know it."

Kelvin said nothing.

His eyes moved across the estate again.

He wasn't impressed by size.

He was studying exits.

Guards.

Blind spots.

The distance between the cottages and the mansion.

The number of men stationed near the mansion.

The estate might not have been as large as he had expected, but it was guarded like something precious was buried beneath it.

Or hidden inside it.

"Come along," Timothy said. "Let me introduce you to the member of the Anderson family who handles recruitment."

Timothy led the way while Kelvin and John followed behind.

They crossed a stone path that curved away from the main driveway and led toward one of the cottages. It stood beneath a canopy of old trees, surrounded by neatly trimmed flowers, climbing vines, and carefully arranged shrubs.

The cottage was not as grand as the mansion, but it had a quiet authority of its own.

Its walls were painted a soft cream, the roof dark and aged, with lanterns glowing on either side of the entrance. The garden was too well kept to be ordinary. Every flower, every stone, every branch looked as though it had been placed with intention.

Simple.

Elegant.

Controlled.

Whoever lived there did not need the mansion to prove his power.

Timothy knocked.

A deep voice answered from inside.

"Come in."

Timothy pushed the door open.

Kelvin followed him in, his senses immediately sharpening.

The interior smelled faintly of polished wood, old books, and expensive liquor. The sitting room was spacious but not flashy. Dark wooden furniture, leather chairs, framed family portraits, and shelves filled with files and old documents gave the room a formal, almost intimidating feel.

This was not a home built for comfort.

It was a room built for decisions.

At the far end, seated in an armchair beside a low table, was a man in his seventies.

Mr Andrew.

His hair was mostly grey, his face lined with age, but his eyes were sharp. Too sharp. He sat with one leg crossed over the other, a glass resting in his hand, looking like a man who had spent his life judging others and rarely being wrong.

Kelvin knew immediately.

This was not a man who tolerated foolishness.

"Good evening," Timothy greeted. "Sorry for intruding on your leisure time, but we have a new recruit we would like to introduce to you."

Mr Andrew's gaze shifted slowly from Timothy to John.

Then to Kelvin.

It stayed there.

Timothy gestured toward Kelvin.

"This is Kelvin Bruce, the new stable hand. Kelvin, this is Mr Andrew."

Kelvin stepped forward and extended his hand.

Mr Andrew did not take it.

Instead, he studied him.

Slowly.

Openly.

As if Kelvin were not a man, but a document with missing pages.

Kelvin withdrew his hand calmly.

"Which tribe are you from?" Mr Andrew asked.

"I'm from the Western Region," Kelvin replied. "Fante."

"Can you speak the dialect?"

Kelvin held his gaze.

"No," he said. "I wasn't raised there."

Mr Andrew watched him suspiciously.

The silence stretched.

Timothy shifted slightly, but Kelvin remained still.

Mr Andrew leaned back in his chair.

"A Fante man who cannot speak Fanti," he said. "Interesting."

Kelvin gave a faint shrug.

"My mother moved around a lot when I was young."

"Your mother?"

"Yes."

"And your father?"

Kelvin's expression did not change.

"Dead."

Mr Andrew's eyes narrowed.

"Convenient answer."

Kelvin met his gaze.

"Not for him."

John looked away quickly, hiding the slight tension in his face.

Timothy watched Kelvin carefully.

Mr Andrew's mouth twitched, but it was not quite a smile.

"You have a sharp tongue for a man looking for work."

"I answer what I'm asked."

"And if I ask too much?"

Kelvin's voice remained calm.

"Then I answer only what I need to."

The room went still.

For a brief second, Timothy looked like he wanted to step in.

But Mr Andrew lifted one hand slightly, stopping him before he could speak.

"No," Andrew said, his eyes still fixed on Kelvin. "Let him talk."

Kelvin said nothing.

Andrew studied him for a long moment, then set his glass down.

"You say you know how to care for horses."

"Yes."

"Where did you learn?"

"Different places."

"That is not an answer."

"It is the truth."

Andrew's gaze hardened.

"The truth is rarely that vague."

Kelvin's jaw tightened slightly, but he kept his voice steady.

"I worked on farms. I worked with private owners. I know how to feed, groom, calm, and ride them when necessary."

Andrew leaned forward.

"And if a horse panics?"

"You don't panic with it."

A pause.

"You lower your voice. Watch the ears. Watch the eyes. Give it space, but not control."

For the first time, something shifted in Andrew's expression.

Interest.

Kelvin continued.

"A frightened horse is not stubborn. It is trying to survive. If you treat fear like disobedience, you make the animal dangerous."

Silence followed.

Andrew picked up his glass again, but did not drink.

"You speak as if you understand fear."

Kelvin held his gaze.

"Everyone understands fear."

"No," Andrew said quietly. "Most men only understand how to hide it."

Timothy glanced between them.

The room had changed.

This was no longer a simple introduction.

It had become a test.

Andrew finally looked at Timothy.

"Where did you find him?"

"He came recommended," Timothy said smoothly.

"By whom?"

"By me," John answered before Timothy could speak.

Andrew's eyes shifted to John.

John straightened.

"I needed someone who could handle horses and keep his mouth shut. Kelvin seemed capable of both."

Andrew looked back at Kelvin.

"Is that true? Can you keep your mouth shut?"

Kelvin's eyes did not move.

"When I'm paid to."

Andrew gave a low chuckle.

This time, it sounded real.

"Good. At least you are not pretending to be humble."

He rose slowly from his chair.

Despite his age, there was strength in the movement. Authority. The kind that did not need to raise its voice.

He walked toward Kelvin, stopping just a few steps away.

"You will work in the stables," Andrew said. "You will answer to the head groom. You will not wander near the mansion unless summoned. You will not ask questions about the family. You will not speak to any of the Andersons unless spoken to first."

Kelvin lowered his head slightly.

"Understood."

Andrew's gaze sharpened.

"And you will remember this, Kelvin Bruce. Men who come here hiding things do not last long."

A slow pause.

"They either confess..."

His eyes darkened.

"...or they disappear."

Kelvin did not blink.

"Then I'll make sure to do my work well."

Andrew stared at him for another moment.

Then he turned away.

"Take him to the workers' quarters," he said to Timothy. "He starts tomorrow morning."

Timothy nodded.

"Yes, sir."

Kelvin turned to leave with the others, but Andrew's voice stopped him.

"One more thing."

Kelvin looked back.

Andrew's gaze settled on him like a blade.

"Your mother's name."

The room tightened.

Timothy's body went still.

John's breathing changed.

Kelvin's face remained calm.

"My mother?"

"Yes," Andrew said. "You mentioned her. What was her name?"

A beat passed.

Then Kelvin answered.

"Brenda."

The lie came easily.

Too easily.

Andrew studied him.

"Brenda what?"

Kelvin held his gaze.

"Brenda Bruce."

Another silence.

Then Andrew nodded once.

"You may go."

Kelvin turned and walked out with Timothy and John.

But as they stepped back into the cool evening air, Timothy leaned closer and muttered under his breath.

"That was too close."

Kelvin's eyes remained on the path ahead.

"No," he said quietly.

"That was only the beginning."

Timothy sighed. "Of all the names you could have used, why choose Bruce?"

Kelvin answered, "Sometimes the best lie is the one closest to the truth."

Behind them, inside the cottage, Mr. Andrew stood by the window and watched Kelvin walk away.

His expression had changed.

The faint amusement was gone.

In its place was suspicion.

Deep.

Unsettled.

He turned toward the old family portraits on the wall, his gaze landing on one in particular.

A younger version of the Anderson family.

A past buried beneath polished wood and old lies.

And somewhere in that past was a face he could not quite forget.

Mr Andrew's eyes narrowed.

"Kelvin Bruce," he murmured.

Then, after a long pause-

"Where have I heard that name before?"