Elias moved like smoke through the compound.
He was no longer the man who fumbled with a pistol. No longer the rookie haunted by memories that didn't belong to him. After weeks of blood, broken bones, and quiet vengeance, he had started becoming something else.
Something darker.
The mission tonight was personal.
This wasn't just another hit. This was Marek, the man who had pulled the trigger on Silas—or so the memories told him. The one who left him to die in that blood-soaked corridor, thinking it was over.
But it wasn't.
Elias was the aftermath.
He pressed a gloved hand against the cool metal of the vent, steadying his breath as voices filtered through below.
"Silas is dead," Marek was saying, his tone arrogant. "He served his purpose. The boss has new dogs now."
That was all Elias needed.
Like a blade in the dark, he dropped in.
Three men. All armed.
It didn't matter.
Elias struck the first before he could draw his weapon, snapping his neck with brutal efficiency. The second screamed—but it was choked off by a swift jab to the throat and a finishing blow to the spine.
Marek tried to run.
He didn't get far.
Elias pinned him to the ground, his knee pressed into Marek's spine, blade against his neck. His breath was slow. Calm. Cold.
"Remember me?" Elias asked.
Marek froze. "S-Silas?"
Elias leaned closer, his voice low and menacing. "Not quite."
The knife slid clean across the traitor's throat.
As Marek's body went limp, Elias stood there for a long moment, blood staining his gloves. The revenge didn't feel as good as he thought it would. It never did.
He walked out the same way he came in—alone and silent.
Meanwhile…
A pair of sharp eyes watched from across the rooftop.
Seraphina.
She had followed him again, drawn by something she couldn't explain. Was it guilt? Curiosity? Regret?
She didn't know.
But as she watched Elias walk into the night, darker and more merciless than ever, a strange ache settled in her chest.
This wasn't the boy she once knew. This wasn't even Silas.
This was something else.