Hephaestion was never morally opposed to what Xander had created or was doing, but he had never bought in as the way he wanted his life to unfold. He wanted to experience it naturally, and so Xander was forced to watch the one man he loved age year after year as he remained unchanged.

What Xander had become in the two weeks since Hephaestion’s passing was a spiritual husk of his formal self. Naturally robust, driven by the success and opportunities for Xanegenics that bordered on fanaticism, he was a charismatic and formidable leader. Since the marketing of his discovery the world had truly become his oyster, as the saying goes. No door remained closed to him, and he rarely needed to knock. His time was spent with royalty, celebrities, and political magnates. He had successfully flicked the internal switch that separates the super rich from everyone else, a switch that eradicates materialistic guilt and replaces it with confident yet humble entitlement.

Xander’s eyes flickered open and adjusted slowly to the darkness that filled the room like a thick swamp. He exhaled heavily and it felt as though his chest would crush his heart. Without Hephaestion, what did any of it matter? Rolling over, he caught his own scent and recoiled. In his mourning he had completely neglected to care for himself. Mustering his strength, he pushed himself up on the pillows and swung his legs out of the bed. The cold marble shot an icicle up his spine as his feet connected. He pulled his toes inward at the shock and felt the rough mortar between the mosaic tiles drag along his skin.

“Xander.…”

He shot up sharply to his feet and his eyes danced wildly around the room. He was alone and yet he could have sworn he had heard.…

“Xander.…”

The voice called out to him again, this time from under the door into the shared foyer between the Italian and Persian rooms. Grabbing his royal blue and gold silk robe off the bedside chair. he hurriedly wrapped it round himself. His bare feet marched quickly over the marble and deep Persian rugs before pausing in front of the double doors. He listened, but the only sound to reach his ears was his own shallow breathing and the rapid staccato of his heart that threatened to burst through his chest.

For a moment all was still and then horror overtook him and his body petrified as the gilt gold lion door knob turned and the door swung open. Footsteps rang through the octagonal foyer and he witnessed the door on the adjacent wall push open of its own accord onto the third floor terrace.

“Follow,” the voice said.