BLACK LEDGER

2

The old television screen in the corner of Sydney’s secret headquarters flickered, casting a pale blue glow over Kellan’s rigid face. The wound on his abdomen had been neatly dressed with professional medical bandages, but the physical ache there was nothing compared to what he was seeing on the screen.

"...Military officials have formally confirmed the death of Major Kellan Draik and the entire Raptor Unit in an ambush at the northern border..."

The news anchor’s voice was flat, as if the deaths of a dozen of the nation’s finest soldiers were merely a statistical footnote. A photo of Kellan in his full dress uniform appeared on the screen. Gallant, strong-jawed, with eyes full of devotion.

Kellan gripped the edge of the iron table until his knuckles turned white. "They didn't even look for our bodies," he hissed.

"Why search for bodies in a place that’s been leveled by an airstrike?" Sydney emerged from the darkness, sliding a glass of neat whiskey toward him. "Your death is the easiest way for them to bury the scandal of that failed mission."

Kellan ignored the glass. His eyes remained locked on the screen as the camera cut to a house he knew all too well. A white picket fence with slightly peeling paint—a project he had planned to fix once he got home.

There, in front of a crowd of reporters, a woman stepped out with a staggering gait.

"Gina..."

Kellan’s heart seemed to stop beating.

Gina McKenn looked shattered. Her face was swollen from crying, and her usually perfectly styled hair was a disheveled mess. She nearly collapsed while trying to walk down the steps, if not for a pair of hands that swiftly caught her by the waist.

A tall man in an expensive black shirt appeared behind Gina, wrapping his arm protectively around her shoulders. He fended off the reporters' microphones with a sharp, warning glare.

"Dwayne," Kellan uttered the name like a curse.

"Your loyal best friend, right?" Sydney sipped her drink, standing beside Kellan and watching the screen with him. "He’s the one organizing the symbolic funeral. He’s also the one ensuring Gina’s company stays stable amidst this storm. Very efficient for someone who just lost his best friend."

Kellan felt his jaw grind. "He was always there. Even when I was on the battlefield, he was the one looking after Gina. I thought..."

"You thought he was sincere?" Sydney interrupted with a cynical tone. "In this world, Kellan, sincerity is often just a mask for incredible patience. He was waiting for this moment. The moment where you were no longer there to stand in his way."

On the screen, Dwayne guided Gina into a car. Before the door closed, Dwayne glanced toward the camera. It was only for a split second, but Kellan saw it—a look that contained not a shred of grief. It was the look of a victor who had just claimed new territory.

Thud!

Kellan slammed his fist onto the iron table. The table shook violently, but the pain in his hand couldn't distract him from the rage burning in his chest.

"I have to go home," Kellan turned, his steps limping but full of resolve.

"For what? To tell them the ghost is real?" Sydney didn't move; her voice remained calm yet cold. "The moment you step out that door, Paulo will know you’re alive. Gina will be in danger, and Dwayne... he’ll just call the police to report an intruder harassing his grieving wife."

Kellan stopped at the door, his breath hitching. "She’s my wife, Sydney!"

"Not anymore," Sydney walked closer, her voice dropping to a low whisper in Kellan’s ear. "The world has already buried you. If you go back now as Kellan Draik, you only bring death to them. You want to protect your son, don't you? The boy who hasn't even had the chance to call you 'Dad'?"

Kellan bowed his head. The image of his son, Leo, who was only three years old, flashed through his mind. He didn't want Leo to grow up in fear, hunted by his father’s enemies.

"Then what am I supposed to do?" Kellan asked, his voice breaking with desperation.

Sydney pulled a thick folder from inside her coat and tossed it onto the table. On the cover, a name was embossed in elegant gold letters: SEBASTIAN CROWE.

"As of today, Kellan Draik is buried underground. You will become this man," Sydney opened the folder, revealing a stack of legal documents, a passport, and an investment company profile. "Sebastian Crowe has no feelings. He has no wife. He only has assets, power, and one goal: To destroy anyone who dares touch what is his."

Kellan stared at the profile photo in the passport. It was his own face, but with a different gaze. Colder. Emptier.

"Dwayne Philips thinks he’s won," Kellan muttered, touching the document. "He thinks he can take everything from me."

"Let him think that for a while," Sydney gave a thin smile. "It’s quite satisfying to watch someone fall from the top of a tower they built themselves, isn't it?"

Kellan picked up the passport. He no longer saw himself as a soldier loyal to his country. His country had betrayed him. His best friend had betrayed him.

"What are the terms?" Kellan asked coldly.

Sydney looked at him with a glimmer of satisfaction. "Simple. You work for my organization for two years. You become the 'cleaner' for my problematic assets. In exchange, I give you unlimited resources to destroy Paulo... and anyone else who dares touch your bed."

Kellan fell silent for a moment. He looked back at the television screen, which was now showing a montage of his service memories. With one swift motion, he turned the TV off. Darkness enveloped the room once more.

"Deal," Kellan said.

That night, in a secret warehouse far from the hustle and bustle of the city, a war hero officially vanished.