"I am no longer a Fletcher."

Those words. The same words Isaac had scribbled on that note all those years ago - they echoed inside his mind like a haunting refrain as he stepped into the grand dining hall of the Fletcher manor.

Everything looked almost exactly as he remembered. The chandelier still hung like a cluster of frozen stars above the long mahogany table, the walls were still lined with portraits of dead men wearing smug smiles, and that same faint scent of polished oak and cigars still clung to the air.

Only now, Isaac wasn't the frightened boy walking into a room of wolves.

He was a man who'd left their cage behind.

At the table sat the family he had abandoned.

His mother, delicate and reserved, looked like she had aged twenty years in the few years he'd been away. Her once-soft brown hair had streaks of grey woven through it, and though she wore pearls around her neck, her presence was as quiet and subdued as ever. She sat beside the man who had destroyed them all.

His father, Fletcher Sr. - bald, broad-shouldered, and suffocating in a black turtleneck that hugged his thick neck - radiated that same oppressive authority Isaac remembered. His eyes were cold, calculating, and utterly without warmth.

And sitting on either side were Isaac's twin brother, Irwin, and their sister, Elizabeth - the two who had been sent to collect him from the jet earlier that day.

Irwin looked almost the same, though his eyes carried the sharp gleam of a man too accustomed to winning. Elizabeth sat upright opposite him, hands folded neatly, her anxious gaze flicking between her brothers.

At first, they hadn't believed the call from Bucharest - a random message from an airfield claiming it was their long-lost son. But they paid for the jet anyway. And of course, when he stepped off the plane, they had recognised him instantly.

If it hadn't been Isaac, if someone else had tried to impersonate a Fletcher… they would've been killed and harvested for spare parts before breakfast.

Because that's what the Fletchers did.

They were a small family, but one with far-reaching claws - an empire of relatives and subordinates managing their criminal kingdom. On paper, they were a wealthy noble family. In truth, they were an infection, a name whispered in fear and respect alike.

Yet tonight, the only thing that filled the air wasn't pride - it was tension.

Even in this private dinner, ten armed guards stood along the edges of the dining hall, motionless, silent, like part of the decor. And that wasn't even counting the others patrolling the halls outside.

The head of the table spoke first.

"So nice of you to join us, Isaac." His father's voice was hoarse, low, and heavy with disdain. He didn't bother glancing at Sven or Takeshi, who stood behind Isaac like shadows before taking their seats beside him.

Isaac, Sven, and Takeshi sat directly opposite the Fletcher family - an unspoken divide splitting the long table clean down the middle.

Isaac didn't reply. He simply pulled out a chair, sat down, and began to eat, calm and methodical, as though the room weren't brimming with contempt.

His mother watched him quietly. Elizabeth fidgeted. Irwin smirked. His father… glared.

It had been years since they last saw him, and the change was undeniable. He was leaner, sharper, and the faint scars and his missing arm were impossible to ignore.

Still, no one said anything until his father's patience cracked.

"You think you've grown now, do you?" he rasped, his words cutting through the quiet. "No glasses and independent - now you think you're too good to greet your old man?"

Isaac's fork paused. He looked up, met his father's eyes with a cold, unwavering stare… and then went back to eating.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

His father's hand slammed against the table, rattling the cutlery. "Who the hell are you looking at like that, boy? You sit here, in my house, eating my food, and still have the nerve to glare at me?"

He leaned forward, his veins bulging against the turtleneck. "And what's with that arm? No Fletcher walks around crippled."

There wasn't an ounce of concern in his voice. Only disgust.

Isaac simply smiled faintly, the corner of his mouth twitching.

'Nice to see nothing's changed,' he thought to himself. 'What else did I expect?'

Irwin leaned back in his chair with a mocking grin. "And these are the idiots you hang around with now?"

Sven's jaw tightened, his hand curling around his wine glass, still drinking. Takeshi's lips flickered, but he remained composed, his calm expression betraying nothing.

Irwin's smirk widened. "What happened, little brother? Did it take you this long to realise you couldn't survive on your own?"

There were only a couple of minutes between them, yet Irwin had always made it a habit of calling him the younger brother.

He laughed, and Elizabeth's attempt to quiet him was ignored.

"I thought you weren't a Fletcher anymore - so what are you doing here? Couldn't hack it on your own?"

His father chuckled darkly. "Maybe he sold that arm of his for rent money."

Irwin cackled. "Or traded it for a meal. Tell me, you still want to be a writer, huh? Maybe you can type quicker with your toes now."

The laughter spread across the table like a disease. This wasn't a family dinner - it was a humiliation ritual.

Sven's chair creaked as he shifted, barely restraining himself.

Meanwhile, Takeshi's hand rested on his sword, just long enough for one of the guards to stiffen. They had attempted to take his weapon from him, especially since he was in the presence of their boss, but it was to no avail.

But Isaac gave them both a look - sharp and wordless.

His eyes alone seemed to say: "Settle down. Don't cause a mess."

And somehow, they listened.

The table quieted, the guards relaxed, and only the clinking of Isaac's fork filled the silence once more.

He chewed slowly, calmly, as if the insults bounced right off him. But Sven and Takeshi could see it - the faint twitch in his jaw, the subtle tension in his remaining hand.

This wasn't a meal. This was a test.

And Isaac, the once-forgotten son of the Fletcher family, wouldn't be sitting still for much longer...

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