In the middle of the night, Michael’s phone buzzed softly on the bedside table. He reached for it immediately, silencing it before the sound could carry. The name on the screen made his chest tighten. Celia. He stepped quietly into the small living area of the suite and answered in a low voice. “Hey.” “Hey.” Celia said. Her voice sounded gentle and careful. “When are you coming home?” Michael leaned against the wall, eyes closing briefly. “Celia, I…won’t be back for the next few days.” There was a pause on the line. “Why?”He chose his words carefully. “I got mixed up in… A situation. Nothing I can’t handle. I just need time to sort it out.” He didn’t explain further, and she didn’t push. That was how Celia was, she trusted him, even when it worried her. “…Okay.” She said after a moment. “Be careful, Michael.” “I will.” “Good luck.” A small smile touched his lips. “Thanks. Goodnight, Celia.” “Goodnight.” The call ended. Michael stayed where he was for a few seconds, phone

The car couldn’t go any farther once they reached the edge of the small town. The paved road ended there, giving way to snow-dusted dirt paths and quiet wooden buildings that looked half-asleep under the pale morning sky. Michael parked near a general store, the same one he used months ago, and cut the engine. “We’ll have to walk from here.” He said, stepping out. “The cabin’s not far.” Monica nodded, pulling her coat tighter around herself as she joined him. The cold here was different, it was sharper, cleaner and untouched by city noise. Michael exchanged a few words with the shop owner, paid him to keep an eye on the car, then went inside with Monica to grab supplies. Food, water, batteries, candles. Simple but necessary things. The walk to the cabin was quiet. The forest was thick and watchful around them. Monica kept close, not out of fear exactly, but because it was her first time in a snow covered forest. Michael led the way with easy familiarity, as if his body remembered

Three days passed, and the waiting became heavier than any chase Michael had ever been part of. At first, they had expected Lionel to arrive within hours, maybe a day at most. A man like him didn’t linger. He hunted. He pursued. He finished what he started. But as the first day bled into the second, and the second into the third, nothing happened. No gunshots in the distance. No whispers in town. No signs of a predator closing in. Michael found that absence unsettling. By the third morning, he stood outside the cabin with his hands in his pockets, staring at the treeline as if daring it to move. There was a strange tension coiled in his chest, an irritation he couldn’t quite name. He almost missed being chased. At least then, things were clear. At least then, there was momentum. “This is ridiculous.” He muttered under his breath. Inside the cabin, Monica paced. She tried to distract herself, cleaning surfaces that were already clean, rearranging items that didn’t need rearra

The shot rang out, tearing through the frozen air. One of Thunder’s men went down hard, the blast catching him high in the shoulder and spinning him before he collapsed into the snow with a cry that cut straight through everyone present. Blood bloomed instantly, dark and ugly against the white ground. For half a heartbeat, the world seemed to stop. Then chaos snapped back into motion. Two men rushed Lionel at once. One grabbed the barrel of the shotgun, forcing it upward, while the other slammed into Lionel’s side with his full weight. Lionel snarled, boots sliding as he fought to keep hold of the weapon, but the odds turned against him quickly. A third man joined in, wrenching the shotgun free. The gun hit the snow with a dull thud and skidded several feet away. “He’s disarmed!” Someone shouted. Michael stepped forward immediately, his voice cutting through the panic. “Get him out of here. Now.” Thunder’s men didn’t argue. They lifted the injured fighter carefully, one of the

Michael didn’t wait for Lionel to make the first move. He stepped in fast, ignoring the pain screaming from his shoulder, and threw a sharp punch aimed straight at Lionel’s jaw. Lionel barely flinched. He caught Michael’s wrist mid-swing and twisted hard, forcing a grunt out of him. Michael pulled away and wiped blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. They collided again. Fists flew. Lionel fought dirty while Michael fought smart, using footwork and timing, but his injured shoulder slowed him down. Every hit sent a dull shock through his arm. Lionel noticed and took advantage of it. There was a sharp crack as his fist landed against Michael’s ribs. Michael staggered, barely keeping his footing. Then voices cut through the chaos. “Michael!” He heard Celia first. Then Jace shouting something he couldn’t make out. Barry swore loudly from somewhere behind him. Lionel glanced past Michael, annoyed. “You brought friends.” Michael smiled through the pain. “Yo