ShadowBorne

Chapter Six

For half a second, the world froze. Rain hung in the air and the smell of hot rubber burned my nose. A horn blared from somewhere to my left, long and furious, but I barely heard it. All I could see was the child standing in the road, eyes wide, legs locked, like fear had nailed him in place.

“Shit!”

I threw the door open before I could even think and made for the child.

“Hey!” My voice came out sharper than I meant. “Hey are you okay?”

The child blinked at me, eyes wide and glassy, then took a step back. Then another. His lower lip trembled like it might give way at any second. He nodded quickly, frantically, as if agreeing might keep everything from getting worse.

A car rolled past us slowly. The driver leaned out his window and hurled a string of loud curses in my direction, tires hissing against wet asphalt. I didn’t look at him. I didn’t care. My focus stayed locked on the kid.

I dropped into a crouch, forcing myself down to his level, hands open, palms visible. “You’re fine,” I said, softer now, steady. “You’re okay. I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you.”

His chest hitched once.  He glanced over his shoulder toward the sidewalk, like he couldn’t remember where he was supposed to stand anymore, like the rules had slipped out from under him. People were starting to gather shadows and someone had already pulled out a phone. Another voice cut through the air, sharp and urgent. It didn’t sound good.

“Hey,” I murmured, keeping my voice low, grounding. I nudged him gently toward the curb, slow enough not to scare him. “Go on. Get off the road. That’s it. You’re safe there.”

He hesitated, then moved, small sneakers scuffing the pavement as he reached the edge. I stayed crouched, watching him until both feet were firmly out of harm’s way, until the shaking in his hands eased just a little.

A man broke through the loose crowd and scooped the kid up without a word, clutching him tight against his chest. Relief hit me so hard it made my knees weak. The child disappeared into a cluster of bodies, swallowed by concern and noise. No one was looking at me anymore. I straightened, scanned faces out of habit trying to make sure that no one was paying any extra attention to me. Then I slid back into the car and shut the door.

My hands were shaking and I wiped them on my jeans, drew in a breath that burned all the way down and started the engine. The sound felt too loud in my head. I pulled back onto the road, heart still racing, pulse thudding in my ears like a countdown.

My eyes and my mind didn't try to wander off the road anymore. By the time the traffic thinned, my jaw ached from clenching it.

Seven hours later, the road stretched into a long avenue lined with tall, dark trees, their branches bending inward like they were guarding something. The gates came into view slowly, iron bars rising high enough to block the sky and lights glinting along the perimeter like watchful eyes.

The mansion sat beyond them, massive and immaculate. It was made of stone and shiny glass and the fountains sounded softly in the distance. A place scrubbed clean on the surface, where blood never showed unless you knew where to look.

I pulled up to the gate and cut the engine.

For a moment, I just sat there trying to steady my breath. Then I pressed the horn.

I heard a click, then the gates responded with a deep metallic groan, parting slowly as if deciding whether to let me in. I drove through it slowly, tires crunching over gravel. Every inch of the driveway was familiar, mapped into muscle memory despite the months away. I tracked cameras without looking at them. Counted the blind spots and noted which lights were new. Nothing here existed without purpose. 

The air smelled like rain-soaked grass and polished stone. Safe, if you were on the right side of it.

Marcus was waiting at the entrance. He leaned against one of the marble columns like he had done it so many times, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed but alert. His eyes found me immediately. 

“Well, well,” he said as I stepped out. “My old friend. Good to see you again.”

“Marcus.” I simply said.

He scanned me head to toe like he was searching my soul through my skin.

 “You look well.”

He smiled. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

A lie we both knew. I exhaled through my nose and didn’t bother calling him on it. He turned and gestured me inside, already moving. “Come on. You’ve had a long night.”

The sitting area was exactly as I remembered it. The leather chairs were arranged too neatly around a glass table. Art hung on the walls that cost more than most people’s lives. This kind of room was designed to make men feel small without realizing why.

Marcus dropped into one of the chairs but I stayed standing until he gestured to the chair opposite him. 

He tried to play around, bringing up a job that went sideways years ago while laughing  like it was a shared joke instead but all my mind thought of was  the near-miss that left three men dead.

I had had enough so I cut him off. “I’m not here to chit chat, Marcus.”

His smile didn’t fade. If anything, it sharpened. “I know that, but old friends have the right to catch up, don't they?”

“Let's  not pretend like we are friends.”

“Okay.” Marcus leaned back, fingers lacing over his stomach. His gaze drifted to the ceiling like the truth might be written there.

“But first, I would like to propose that the past remains in the past. Nothing else matters anymore, you know...”

I laughed hard but there was absolutely no humor in it. “Of course, you would say that.”

The room went still and he took a while to respond. 

“Look, I did what I had to do,” he said. “Same as you would have done.”

I wasn't going to try to argue anything with him. I just wanted to know what his deal was. 

“So what do you want?”

That did it. Marcos leaned forward, elbows on his knees now with eyes locked on mine. “Firstly, I want to know why you changed your mind and returned.”

“I am an ex-convict and the world is not safe. What better place to find shelter than the den of the man who put me there in the first place.”

“Fair,” he said, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “But safety isn’t free. In exchange, I have a job for you.”

I didn’t respond. Silence had always unsettled him more than resistance. “You were never the kind of man who hides,” he went on, voice calm and deliberate. “And I didn’t drag you back here just to offer a bed and protection. We have business.”

“What kind of business?”

His eyes flicked to the door checking the room and then returned to me. The smile that spread across his face was slow, calculated and predatory.

“We’re hijacking a plane.”

The words landed heavy, reverberating in the space between us. For a moment, I didn’t move or blink. 

“What now?”

He chuckled softly. “You heard me. And you,” he said, voice sharpening, “will be heading it.”