23 April 2025
The man in the crisp suit didn’t stir, but his eyes were glued to the letter I clutched as if the world beyond it had ceased to exist.
Eli was barely breathing in my arms, his skin ashen, his lips ice‑cold. I could feel his pulse faltering. There was no time for hesitation; my fingers tore the envelope open.
Inside lay no lengthy note—just an old photograph, an address scrawled on the back, and a name inked in bold black: Alexander Ward.
The moment I read that name the man’s smug grin faded. His eyes narrowed, his jaw tightened.
“You shouldn’t have read that,” he said, voice low and sharp.
I stared at him. “Who’s Alexander Ward?”
He stepped closer. “That name will set this city alight. If you’re clever, you’ll burn it and pretend you never saw it.”
Before I could answer a deafening horn blared outside. A freight train thundered through the marshalling yard, rattling the walls of the rundown cottage. The ground shivered, yet the suited man never blinked away from the paper.
Eli groaned, his eyes flickering open for a heartbeat. “Find him… Nathan… before they do.”
His head slumped again. Panic tightened my chest. “Eli! Stay with me!”
The man’s tone turned icy. “If you chase Alexander Ward you sign your own death warrant—and your brother’s too, should he survive the night.”
I placed myself between him and Eli. “Then why are you so frightened of him?”
He gave a thin smile. “Because Alexander Ward is the only living soul who knows the truth about your mother… and why you were taken.”
The words struck me like a blow. My grip on the letter tightened until it crumpled.
Before I could speak, Clarissa stepped forward, a pistol in her hand.
“Stand back,” she warned him.
His grin returned. “Still playing hero, Clarissa? You were one of us once. You know how this ends.”
“I also know you aren’t leaving here with that letter,” she shot back.
They stared at each other in a tense silence, broken only by the steady drip from the busted roof and Eli’s ragged breathing.
At last the suited man took a slow step back. “This isn’t over, Nathan. That letter will ruin you. And when it does… I’ll be there to watch.”
He limped out of the cottage, disappearing into the shadows of the yard.
For a heartbeat everything was still, but my hands trembled—not from fear, but from something hotter: anger.
I turned to Clarissa. “We go to that address tonight.”
Her eyes widened. “Nathan, you don’t understand—”
“I understand enough,” I cut in. “Ward knows where my mother is. If I have to torch the city to find her, I will.”
Evelyn, clutching her wounded shoulder, tried to rise. “You have no idea how dangerous Ward is. He worked for your father before the fire. He was the one man your father trusted with… everything.”
I snapped at her. “And where is he now?”
She hesitated, glancing at Clarissa. “The address on that paper isn’t his home. It’s a safe‑house. If he’s there, he’s hiding from the same people hunting you.”
Clarissa shook her head. “Nathan, you don’t walk into a place like that without backup. Ward trusts no one. If he thinks you’re with his enemies, he’ll put a bullet through you before you can speak.”
I looked down at Eli. His breathing was still uneven, his hand twitched slightly in mine. He was still hanging on—for me.
“I’m going,” I said. “You’re either with me… or you’re in my way.”
Clarissa said nothing, but she didn’t stop me.
—
We slipped out of the cottage and into the dim of the yard. Every creak of rusted metal, every clink of a loose chain set my heart racing. I kept my arm around Evelyn to steady her.
The safe‑house was only two streets away, hidden behind an old warehouse. From the outside it looked abandoned—planks nailed over the windows, the door hanging askew on a single hinge.
As we drew nearer a tiny red light blinked on the wall. A camera.
“They’re watching,” I muttered.
Clarissa knocked three times, paused, then knocked twice more. “It’s me,” she called.
After a long silence the door creaked open.
A tall man with a greying beard and steel‑cold eyes stood inside, a pistol trained on my chest.
“Nathan Graham,” he said.
I froze. “You know me?”
“I know everything about you,” he replied. “And about your brother.”
“Then you know I need answers,” I said.
He gestured us inside. The safe‑house was dim, smelling faintly of tobacco. Maps and photographs plastered the walls, linked by red string.
At the centre was a recent picture of my mother, standing in a market, a simple scarf around her neck. Her eyes—those eyes were the ones I see reflected in the mirror each morning.
My throat tightened. “Where is she?”
Ward stepped forward. “Alive. And in more danger than you can imagine.”
“Then take me to her.”
He shook his head. “If you go to her now, you’ll lead them straight to her. They’ll kill her before you can even say her name.”
I clenched my fists. “I’ve been kept from her my whole life. I won’t wait another twenty years.”
Ward’s gaze softened a fraction. “Nathan… the people after you aren’t after money or power. They want something your mother possesses—something your father left her before he died. If they get it… this city will crumble.”
Clarissa, quiet until now, asked, “What is it?”
Ward hesitated, then glanced at the crumpled letter still in my hand. “You already have part of it. The rest… is with her.”
Evelyn’s voice cut through the tension. “And if they get both parts?”
Ward answered simply. “They won’t just kill you. They’ll erase you. All of you. As if you never existed.”
—
The room fell silent. I stared again at the photograph of my mother; her faint smile was real. She was alive.
For the first time in years a thread of hope warmed me, though I knew hope alone would not shield her.
I turned to Ward. “Tell me what I have to do.”
His eyes met mine. “First… you must be ready to kill the man who started that fire.”
“And who’s that?” I asked.
Ward’s jaw tightened. “The same man who’s been hunting you since you dragged your brother into the hospital. The man in the suit.”
Heat surged through my veins. I could see his smug grin, hear his voice in the rain.
I wasn’t running any longer. It was my turn to hunt.
Ward’s words lingered like smoke. Clarissa’s grip on her gun tightened. Evelyn’s face went pale.
And me? I felt fire in my blood. Years of surviving on scraps of truth and half‑answers had finally given me a name, a face, a target.
The man in the suit.
The same man who nearly took Eli’s life.
The same man who knew why my mother vanished.
The same man who turned my past to ash.
I stepped closer to Ward, voice low but steady. “Then tell me where to find him.”
He studied me, his steel‑grey eyes unblinking. “You’re not ready.”
I slammed my fist onto the table, scattering the photographs. “My brother is dying! My mother is in hiding! Don’t tell me I’m not ready.”
A crack appeared in Ward’s mask. His jaw twitched. He lowered his pistol slowly.
“You remind me of your father,” he muttered. “Same fire. Same stubbornness. That’s why they fear you.”
From his coat he produced another worn envelope, creased from years of travel. He slid it across the table toward me.
“Inside is the first step. Once you open it there’s no turning back. You’ll either save your family…”—his eyes hardened—“or bury them.”
My pulse hammered in my ears. Eli’s faint breathing echoed in my mind. My mother’s eyes in the photograph seemed to stare straight through me.
I reached out, took the envelope, and in that instant knew the hunt had already begun.
I wasn’t fighting for answers any longer. I was fighting for blood.
When I finally confront the man in the suit, he will no longer be the hunter. He will be the prey.
