Knuckles blinked. Surprised. Then grinned. “Tough guy, huh?” He stepped forward. Fist cocked. “Let’s soften you up.”He swung. A heavy, telegraphed punch aimed at Rocky’s gut.Rocky didn’t think. He moved.Fast.Instinctively.He ducked under the swing. Not away. In.His good hand shot out. Not a fist. Fingers rigid. Like a spear.THUD.His fingertips slammed into the soft spot just below Knuckles’ ribcage.A sickening crunch.Knuckles gasped. Eyes bulged. Air whooshed out of him. He folded. Collapsed. Gagging. Useless.Silence. Shock.Cigarette stared. Dropped his smoke. “Shit!”The one behind lunged. A knife flashed. Small. Dirty.Rocky spun. The blade sliced empty air where his neck had been. He didn’t retreat. He stepped into the lunge. His elbow snapped up. Bone met jaw.CRACK.The man’s head snapped back. He crumpled. Out cold.Cigarette froze. Terror replaced bravado. He looked at Rocky. Really looked. At the blood soaking his sleeve. At the unnerving stillness in his eyes. At

She lowered her hand, trembling with suppressed fury. Her voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "You broke his wrist."Rocky held her gaze. "He was hurting Melissa."Elizabeth’s lip curled. "That crippled girl? What does it matter? She’s nothing! Less than nothing! And you…" She took a step back, her eyes raking over him with undisguised loathing and a new, wary respect. "You’ve changed. Something’s… wrong with you." She spat the words. "But mark my words, Rocky," she sneered his name, "this isn’t over. You will pay for this. Dearly. You think you’re tough now? You have no idea what’s coming."She spun on her heel, her dress swirling. "Jonathan! Get your pathetic self up! We’re going to the hospital! And you," she pointed a shaking finger at Rocky without looking back, "clean up this mess. And stay out of my sight. Or so help me God…"She stormed out, dragging Jonathan’s whimpering form behind her. The front door slammed again, shaking the house.Silence returned, heavier than befor

Few hours laterThe oppressive quiet in the Collins house was shattered not by Elizabeth’s returning fury, but by the sleek purr of a luxury engine pulling up outside. Melissa, propped up in bed trying to read a tattered magazine, froze. Elizabeth, nursing a near-constant headache since the "hundred-dollar humiliation," looked up from her ledger, hope replacing her usual bitterness. Jonathan, cradling his cast, flinched."Sophia?" Elizabeth breathed, rushing to the grimy window. Her face lit up like a cheap Christmas bulb. "It is her! Oh, thank heavens! Finally, someone with sense!"Sophia Collins emerged from her Tesla like a queen descending from a chariot. Designer sunglasses, a dress that probably cost more than the Collins' annual income, and an aura of pure, icy disdain. She didn't knock. The front door opened, and she stepped inside, wrinkling her perfect nose at the stale air."Mother. Father." Her greeting was glacial, devoid of warmth. Her sharp eyes swept the cramped, sh

Sophia stood rigid, the damning note burning a hole in her mind's eye, her phone clutched .Elizabeth trembled, the color drained from her face, her earlier vindictiveness replaced by raw terror. Jonathan slumped against the doorframe, his cast suddenly feeling like the least of his problems. Melissa watched them, a fragile sense of vindication warring with the chilling reality of the plot against Rocky’s life.Sophia finally moved. Not towards Melissa. Not to comfort her shattered parents. She spun on her heel, her designer heels clicking a frantic staccato on the worn floorboards as she fled the room, down the stairs, and out the front door. The roar of her Tesla peeling away was the only sound breaking the suffocating stillness.Elizabeth found her voice, a ragged whisper. "He... he can't prove anything. It’s just a note...""He found it," Jonathan moaned, cradling his cast. "He knows. And Sophia... she believed him."Melissa closed her eyes. $5000. Upfront. Rest when he's gone

The penthouse air crackled, thick with Damien Goldberg’s malignant amusement and Alistair Thorne’s suffocating despair. The split screen was a diorama of agony; the decoy prince broken in the cell, and Rocky, the, bound in the van, the digital clock a relentless movement towards oblivion – 00:15:33.Damien rose, stretching languidly, refilling his own glass now, dismissing Alistair’s frozen horror. He walked to the panoramic window, the city lights below mirroring the cold stars above. "War, Alistair," he murmured, swirling the amber liquid. "It’s the only language my brother ever truly understood. A language of fire and steel, of broken thrones and rewritten destinies." He took a slow sip, his reflection ghostly on the glass. "If he lives... when he lives... he won't come bearing olive branches. He won't seek peace. He'll bring chaos. A storm to scour the world clean of pretenders... starting with me."He turned, his eyes like chips of obsidian catching the penthouse lights. "