The Return Of War God: Evander Holt

Let's divorce

The scent of blood still lingered in the air, mingling with dust and the sharp tang of broken glass. My boots crunched softly against the floor as I moved around the living room, gathering the scattered pieces.

I cleaned slowly. The mess wasn't only physical. It was a reflection of everything I had left behind… and everything that had rotted in my absence.

When I straightened up, my eyes caught the photograph on the wall.

Smiling in a field of sunflowers, her arms outstretched toward a sky I had never seen with her.

My feet carried me toward it before I realized. I froze, staring at that face—so familiar, yet still foreign.

Ten years.

Ten damn years without her.

I stood there far too long, my chest tightening, before finally lifting the frame from the wall. My hands trembled as I held it. I didn't know if I was looking at my daughter… or at a stranger.

With a breath that shook more than I wanted to admit, I set the picture gently beside the couch.

The bottle waited where I had left it. Only a few sips remained. I finished them in silence, the bitter burn dulling the ache beneath my ribs. My body sank into the couch, exhaustion creeping through my veins like poison.

Eventually, sleep found me.

But it wasn't gentle.

I jolted awake—instinct on fire—my hand snapping up and clamping around a wrist.

"Hey—!" A startled voice gasped.

My vision cleared.

Lucia.

She stood frozen, a thin blanket in her free hand. My grip loosened.

"It's just me," she whispered. Her voice was soft, steady, but her eyes were guarded. "I was trying to cover you up… it's cold outside."

The amber glow of pre-dawn seeped through the curtains, painting the room in muted gold. The house was silent again.

I sat up slowly, rubbing my eyes. My throat felt raw. "Thanks."

She didn't leave. Instead, she lowered herself onto the couch beside me—close, but not close enough.

For a moment, silence.

Then her words came like a blade.

"Why did you come back?" she asked, barely above a whisper.

I opened my mouth, but she cut me off with a sharp breath.

"For a decade, Evander." Her voice grew harder with each word. "Ten years. And you never came home."

The words hit harder than any punch.

"You built your life on the front lines, chasing honor, fighting at the border… while your family bled without you." Her eyes burned with unshed tears. "Even when we needed you most. When Aurora was sick. When I was falling apart. You stayed gone."

"I—"

"No." She shook her head violently. "I don't want to hear it. Not now. Not anymore."

Her face turned away, but her voice remained steady, cold. "Next week. You should be getting ready to sign the divorce papers."

I stared at her. Everything in me ached. The words I wanted to say tangled in my chest, refusing to form.

So I broke in the only way I could.

I cried.

Not loud. Not broken. But enough for her to see it. Enough for the weight in my chest to finally crack through.

"Evelyn," I managed, my voice raw, barely holding. "Please… don't hate me. Not entirely."

She stood, her back to me now.

Her voice was low, final. "Leave before Aurora wakes up. I'll call you when the papers are ready."

Then she walked away, her footsteps fading into the silence I had created.

I sat slouched, staring blankly at the photograph. Lucia's words still echoed in my skull.

Divorce.

I wasn't surprised. But that didn't mean it didn't cut deep.

I should've been angry. Or numb.

Instead, all I felt was hollow.

The sharp buzz of my phone broke through the silence, dragging me back. The screen lit up with Corwin's name.

I answered. "Yeah?"

"Morning, boss," his familiar voice greeted. "How's the house? You alright?"

I rubbed my eyes, exhaling. "Any news? Movement from the Marris?"

There was a pause.

"Nothing yet," Corwin said finally. "They've been quiet since the incident at the manor. I've got eyes on the estate, though."

"Good."

"I was about to head your way," he added. "Thought I'd drive you to the barracks—"

"No need." I cut him off, pushing to my feet and pacing toward the kitchen. "I'll get there myself. I've got something else for you."

"Go on."

"I need you to check if there's any new gang in town," I said, opening the tap and splashing water on my face. "One with a mask tattoo on their hand."

Corwin went quiet for a beat.

"…Any reason I should be worried about that?" he asked, his tone sharpening.

"They came into my home last night," I said flatly. "Five men. Masked. Armed. They tried to hurt my wife and daughter."

"…Shit." Corwin's voice dropped. "Are they okay?"

"I handled it." My voice didn't rise, but the edge in it was steel. "But I want names. I want whereabouts. I want habits, weaknesses, and the fucking color of their shoelaces. Anyone with that tattoo—I want to know."

"You got it," Corwin replied, his tone colder now, professional. "I'll dig everything I can."

"Keep me posted."

"I will. And Evander?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry they came that close."

I hung up without another word.

The silence of the house pressed heavy against my ears. The photo frame still sat where I had left it, Aurora's smile frozen in the sun.

I stared a little longer, jaw tight.

Then I grabbed my jacket and stepped into the morning air.