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"A little to the left," I directed, pointing at the sleek L-shaped desk as the contractors positioned it against the wall. "No, my left."

The two men adjusted the desk with muffled grunts.

They'd spent the morning transforming the austere director's office into something that would have made professional gamers envious.

There were now multiple high-resolution monitors mounted on articulated arms, a custom-built computer system with enough processing power to run a small country, an ergonomic gaming chair…

Nothing like Prometheus's oppressive mahogany desk and leather throne that had dominated this space for decades.

My finger tugged at the noose masquerading as a tie. Fucking thing strangled me worse than garrote wire. But apparently directors needed to "project authority."

"Cable management next," I instructed, pointing to the tangle of wires. "I want everything hidden."

"Yes, sir," the lead contractor replied, already sorting the cables .

I turned to survey the room. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the Acropolis, while specialized glass ensured no one could see in or target me from a distance.

Strategic lighting replaced the previous dim ambiance, illuminating every corner. No more shadows for secrets to hide in.

My new office made Prometheus's look like a funeral parlor. Good. This space would represent what the North American branch was becoming—efficient, transparent, modern. No more children turned into weapons. No more psychological torture disguised as training.

As the contractors worked, a knock on the door interrupted my thoughts.

"Enter," I called, turning to see Rhadamanthys silhouetted in the doorway. His Western aesthetic seemed even more pronounced today—black Stetson, bolo tie, those ridiculous spurs that announced his presence from three corridors away.

"Director Aleksandar. I see you're making changes."

"The space needed updating," I replied, watching him carefully. Since our conversation after the tribunal, I'd been analyzing his every word for hidden meanings.

He nodded. "Indeed. You seem to be adapting quickly to your new position."

I said nothing, waiting. Rhadamanthys didn't make social calls.

"I've come to deliver something that belongs to the position, not the person." He gestured to the small wooden box tucked under his arm. It was ancient-looking, with tarnished metal bands reinforcing the corners.

The contractors glanced over curiously.

"That will be all for now," I dismissed them, waiting until they had packed their tools and left before addressing Rhadamanthys again. "What is it? "

He set the box on my new desk and stepped back. "Every director receives this upon assuming office. It passes from predecessor to successor."

I approached cautiously, running my fingers over the weathered wood. No visible lock, just a simple latch that looked older than the building itself. "From Prometheus?"

"From the position," Rhadamanthys corrected. "Prometheus was merely its temporary guardian, as you are now."

Something in his careful phrasing made me pause. I flipped the latch and lifted the lid.

Inside, nestled on faded velvet, lay a single silver coin.

At first glance, it seemed ancient but ordinary, the size of a half-dollar, worn by time, tarnished along the edges.

But as light struck its surface, details emerged.

On one side, the profile of a man with a laurel wreath crown; on the other, what appeared to be an eagle with wings spread.

A Tyrian shekel. The exact type of silver coin paid to Judas Iscariot for his betrayal.

I knew what this was. Or thought I did.

"A Judas Coin," Rhadamanthys said, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "One of thirty. Guard it well."

My head snapped up. "So they're real."

The Judge's expression revealed nothing. "Some myths have substance."

I'd heard whispers about the Judas Coins—thirty pieces of silver with impossible power over ferrymen.

The actual coins paid for history's most famous betrayal, now scattered throughout the world.

They were legends told in hushed tones between missions, stories most dismissed as folklore.

Even I had thought them merely cautionary tales designed to keep assets in line.

"I don't want it," I said, closing the box .

"It's not optional." Something flickered in Rhadamanthys's eyes—warning, perhaps. "The coin remains with the director. How you keep it is your choice, but keep it you must."

"Has it ever been used?" I asked carefully.

Rhadamanthys adjusted his bolo tie. "Not in living memory." He paused, studying me. "But that doesn't mean it couldn't be."

The warning was clear, though its meaning remained opaque. I took the coin from its velvet nest, the silver shockingly heavy, radiating warmth that defied the office's chill.

"Keep it close," Rhadamanthys advised, already turning to leave. "And Director Aleksandar? I wouldn't mention it to anyone, not even those you trust most."

After he left, I examined the coin more carefully. The silver gleamed dully under the office lights, the worn face seeming to watch me with ancient, knowing eyes. I slipped it into my pocket, its weight strangely comforting against my thigh.

I returned to supervising the final touches on my office.

The contractors finished installing the desk, mounted the last monitor, and organized the cables into invisible paths behind specially designed panels.

Sleek lines and cold efficiency replaced Prometheus's mausoleum aesthetic.

No more mahogany shadows to hide predatory intentions, no more leather that creaked like old bones when you sat.

Just glass, metal, and light that exposed every secret, every movement.

"Will there be anything else, director?" the lead contractor asked, wiping his hands on his coveralls.

"That's everything for now." I surveyed the space, satisfied with the transformation. "Thank you."

They packed their tools and left, leaving me alone in my new domain. I moved behind the desk, testing the chair. The multiple screens flickered to life at my touch, displaying various sectors of the Acropolis, security feeds, and incoming intelligence reports.

From this desk, I'd paint a target on my back that every ferryman from Miami to Montreal could see. The old guard wouldn't surrender their precious traditions without bloodshed.

The door opened without a knock, and I looked up, ready to reprimand whoever had entered until I spotted Vincent standing in the doorway.

My irritation evaporated instantly, replaced by a surge of heat. He looked devastating in a charcoal suit that hugged his frame perfectly.

"Director Aleksandar," he said, my new title playful on his lips as he closed the door behind him. His eyes traveled over my formal attire, lingering on the tie. "I don't think I've ever seen you in a tie before."

"Hate the fucking thing," I admitted, tugging at it irritably. "Apparently it's part of the uniform."

Vincent crossed the room slowly, taking in the transformed space. "This is... not what I expected."

"Too modern?"

"Too perfect." His smile widened as he approached the desk. "This is exactly you—efficient, precise, nothing wasted." His fingers trailed along the edge of my desk. "I like it."

"First day and already swamped," I said, nodding toward the screens. "Handler interviews start tomorrow. Need to figure out who's loyal to the organization versus who was loyal to Prometheus. Unpleasant but necessary."

"The foundation of meaningful change," Vincent noted. "Speaking of which, I toured the space they're setting up for my new practice. Seems the Pantheon is taking the mental health initiative seriously. "

"They'd better," I replied. "Conditioning review for all active assets was my first official order as director. You'll have a waiting list a mile long by next week."

Vincent smiled. "From trauma therapist to therapist for traumatized assassins. Not exactly the career path I imagined."

"Having second thoughts?"

"Not a single one," he assured me, leaning against my desk. "I finished referring my former patients to colleagues yesterday. Clean break. My focus is here now."

"Any of them give you trouble about terminating?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle," he said, a flicker of sadness crossing his features before he straightened his shoulders. "Professional transitions happen. They'll be fine."

"Speaking of transitions," I said, gesturing to the screens monitoring various sectors of the Acropolis, "word travels fast around here. Caught three different operatives talking about me in the corridors earlier."

"Saying what?"

I shrugged. "The usual. I'm too young. Too hot-headed. But effective. They know my record."

"They don't have to like you," Vincent pointed out.

"No," I agreed. "They just have to do their jobs, take their pennies, and not cause trouble. The old guard can grumble all they want as long as they follow orders."

"And if they don't?" Vincent asked.

I smiled, all teeth. "Then they'll see exactly why Prometheus kept me around for twenty-six years."

Vincent shook his head, but there was fondness in his exasperation. "Always the assassin. "

"Director now," I corrected, moving closer. "Though I admit the job change has some unexpected perks."

"Such as?"

"This office. That chair. This desk." I reached out, my finger trailing along his tie. "You bent over it."

A soft knock interrupted us. Before I could answer, Ana peeked her head in, her smile brightening when she saw Vincent.

"I brought housewarming gifts," she announced, entering with a small potted plant in one hand and a takeout bag in the other. "Office-warming? Whatever you call it when your brother becomes director of an assassination organization."

"You didn't have to," I said, taking the plant while Vincent relieved her of the food bag.