The Ravenport skyline shimmered beneath the dying light of dusk as Elara Vance stepped out of Blackwood Tower, her heels clicking sharply against the marble as if echoing the shift in fate she'd just walked into.
Below, traffic buzzed like restless ants—cars honking, neon flickering, the city alive and blind. None of them knew that behind those towering glass walls, one of Ravenport's darkest secrets had just looked her dead in the eyes.
Damien Blackwood.
CEO. Assassin. Mystery wrapped in silk and silence.
And now… possibly an ally?
Elara slipped into a cab, gripping the printed photo in her hand—Nyx, the myth. The ghost. Half his face hidden, but those eyes… they were unforgettable.
Because she had just seen them. Clear. Calculating. Across the boardroom table.
She knew.
But she wasn't ready to prove it.
Not yet.
---
Blackwood Penthouse – 11:19 PM
Damien stood alone at the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse, staring down at a city that praised him by day and prayed not to meet him by night.
The drink in his hand remained untouched.
What curdled on his tongue wasn't whiskey. It was the past—crawling from the shadows like it always did. Unforgiving. Alive.
Elara Vance.
He hadn't expected her—sharp, fearless, beautiful. A storm in heels. A question he couldn't unhear.
He should've ended it the moment he saw her.
One bullet. No witness. No problem.
But he hadn't.
Because her eyes weren't just curious.
They were angry. Scarred. Familiar.
They reminded him of Nathan Vance.
Her brother.
The kid Damien failed to save.
The mission gone wrong. The blood he couldn't wash off. The guilt that still burned.
With a harsh breath, Damien hurled the glass across the room. It shattered like a scream against the marble.
He snatched the remote. A wall panel slid open, revealing a sleek digital screen.
Faces. Names. Transaction trails.
One tangled web of filth.
And in the center of it all—like venom in a golden chalice:
Senator Marcus Galloway.
Public savior. Private monster.
Damien's eyes narrowed.
"Next target."
---
Underground Safehouse – One Hour Later
The buzz of fluorescent lights flickered overhead. The scent of sweat, blood, and fear clung to the cold steel walls.
A man slumped in a chair, bound, bloodied, shaking.
Damien stood in front of him—still, calm, deadly.
"Who paid Ward?" he asked, voice low.
"I—I don't know—please…"
A button clicked.
Electricity surged.
The man screamed.
Damien didn't flinch. "Try again."
"Galloway!" the man cried. "Senator Marcus Galloway! Him and a group—they call themselves The Circle! They fund it, hide it—they clean up everything!"
Damien let go of the switch.
The man collapsed forward, broken.
The Circle.
A name whispered in fear. A hidden syndicate connecting dirty politicians, black market traffickers, and every monster that Ravenport bred behind closed doors.
And now Elara was in the middle of it.
He didn't want to care.
But he did.
---
Elara's Apartment – 2:43 AM
The knock was soft, sudden.
Elara shot awake, hand already reaching under her pillow for the blade she always kept.
The apartment was quiet. The faint noise of Ravenport nightlife hummed outside her windows.
She crept to the door, eyes sharp, breath held.
Opened it a crack—
Damien Blackwood.
Disheveled. Blood trickling down his temple. Sleeves rolled, breath uneven.
"You shouldn't be here," she hissed.
"And you shouldn't be in this war," he rasped.
He held out a flash drive.
"What is this?" she asked.
"Everything. Bank accounts, names, transaction logs. Proof connecting Ward to Galloway. You wanted answers. There they are."
Elara stared at him, stunned.
"Why give this to me?"
"Because ever since you took that photo, they're going to come for you. And because you're the only one who can make the truth impossible to ignore."
Silence fell between them—sharp, loaded.
Finally, she said, "If I publish this… you burn with them."
Damien stepped forward. Just enough for her pulse to spike.
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"Maybe I should."
Their eyes locked—hers guarded, his haunted.
And in that razor-thin moment between breath and heartbeat, something shifted.
Justice met vengeance.
Fire met gasoline.
And both of them knew—
There was no turning back.
---
To be continued…
---