Two blocks from the hit — 2:18 a.m.
Damien Blackwood crouched in a shadow-drenched alley, the cold gnawing through his gloves. His breath came in quiet plumes, vanishing into the frostbitten night. Rusted fire escapes creaked above him, and somewhere beyond the gloom, dogs barked, a siren wailed, a baby cried.
But Damien only heard one thing.
Click.
That camera.
Someone had seen him.
Impossible.
His jobs were surgical. Clean. No traces, no echoes. One shot, one corpse, one ghost slipping back into the dark.
Except now, the ghost had been caught in the light.
His mind rewound the moment: the flicker of movement. A silhouette. The glint of a lens. And then—gone. A phantom photographing a phantom.
For the first time in years, Damien wasn't the hunter.
He was being hunted.
Jaw tight, he pulled out a burner phone and typed a single encrypted command.
> [FACIAL RECOGNITION SCAN — ACTIVE]
A soft chime.
[NO MATCH FOUND]
Damien exhaled. Of course. Whoever it was had wiped their identity from every system that mattered. Either new blood...
Or a professional.
He holstered his pistol and melted back into the dark.
The hunt had begun.
---
Midtown — 9:14 a.m.
Elara Vance sipped scorched coffee from a chipped paper cup, her eyes locked on a grainy photo glowing on her laptop.
It wasn't clear. The angle was wrong, the lighting trash. But it was enough.
There—half-masked, eyes like ice, gun raised.
The ghost. The vigilante. The name whispered through Ravenport's underworld like a bedtime story for killers.
Nyx.
She didn't believe in ghosts. But monsters? She knew them. She'd survived them.
And Nyx had just executed a man she'd spent weeks tailing.
Councilman Elias Ward—a predator in pressed suits, trafficking lives behind a smile.
Elara should've felt vindicated.
Instead, she felt a tremor of something else.
Why him? Why now? Why in front of her lens?
Because if Nyx was tied to her brother's disappearance two years ago…
Then this photo was more than evidence.
It was a key.
She stared at the image. Her fingers hovered over her keyboard. She could leak it—watch the city erupt.
But then he'd vanish again.
No. She needed him to surface. On her terms.
Elara leaned back in her chair and whispered,
"Alright, ghost. Let's see how real you are."
---
Blackwood Tower — 47th Floor — 11:00 a.m.
Damien entered his office like a storm wrapped in designer fabric. The city bowed beneath his skyline—just the way he liked it.
His assistant, Lena, barely looked up. "Your eleven o'clock is waiting."
"I didn't schedule a meeting."
"She insisted. Freelance journalist. Elara Vance."
The name hit him like a bullet to the ribs.
Vance.
A memory crashed in—blood, screams, a young man's body crumpled in a warehouse. An operation gone wrong. A death he hadn't meant.
A face he never forgot.
He adjusted his cuff. "Send her in."
Lena hesitated. Just a flicker. Then nodded.
The door opened.
And there she was.
Confident. Controlled. Fire wrapped in a journalist's skin. Camera bag over her shoulder. Boots like she was ready to chase war. But her eyes—sharp, green, unflinching—met his like she already knew his secrets.
"You're not what I expected," she said.
"Neither are you."
She sat without being invited.
"I'm working a story," Elara said. "Corruption. Ward's death caught my eye. I don't think it was random."
Damien kept his expression still.
She slid something across the desk.
The photo.
He didn't blink. But inside, his instincts screamed.
"Go on," he said.
"I think there's a vigilante in Ravenport. Someone cleaning up what the law can't touch."
"And you think I'm what? A source?"
"I think you're connected," she said evenly. "And I think you're smart enough to know if I publish this, the city won't just burn—it'll turn on itself."
He leaned in, slow. Deliberate.
"You're bluffing."
She smirked. "Am I?"
He studied her. A little too brave. A little too sharp.
She didn't know yet.
Not the truth. Not what he'd done. Not what her brother had died for.
Eliminate the threat, a voice in his head snarled.
But another voice—the one that remembered that boy's face—held his hand.
Damien leaned back.
"I'll give you what I know," he said. "But I want something in return."
Her eyebrow lifted. "What?"
"Everything you have on Elias Ward. Names. Files. Contacts."
She blinked. "You're not just protecting yourself. You're going after them."
He didn't answer.
Because she was right.
This wasn't just about shadows anymore.
This was war.
---
To be continued...