2025-07-15 20:40:36The truck rumbled through the bruised hush of dawn, rain stitching the city back together as Ares steered them deeper into streets that never asked questions. Beside him, Mira sat sideways, boots on the dash, coat collar pulled high. Smoke drifted from her lip, mixing with the cold that leaked through cracked windows.
For a mile they said nothing. Neon signs sputtered off one by one, night’s lies giving way to the half-truths of daylight. Ares’s eyes flicked to the mirror every few seconds, but the road behind them stayed empty—just wet asphalt reflecting a sky too tired to fight.
“You ever think about stopping?” Mira asked suddenly. Her voice was hoarse from gunpowder and cold cigarettes. “Just… bury the knife. Burn the coat.”
Ares didn’t look at her. “You ever think about lying still in a grave that’s still warm?”
Mira smirked, but it slipped quick. She rolled the window down an inch. Wind hissed in, damp and sharp. “Fair point.”
He turned the truck off the main road, tires splashing through a puddle that painted the fender in oil rainbows. Ahead, the warehouse district loomed—brick skeletons, rusted shutters, doors chained shut but never locked.
They parked under a broken streetlamp. Ares killed the engine. For a moment, they listened—to pigeons rustling in steel beams overhead, to water dripping through holes in forgotten roofs.
Mira slid out first, boots splashing. She tugged her coat tighter. “You sure Jonas left it here?”
Ares climbed out, one hand on the duffel bag heavy with Petrov’s final secrets. “It’s where I’d hide something if I thought I could outrun ghosts.”
He led her to a corrugated metal door scarred with old tags and fresh rust. Mira tested the padlock—cheap brass, no alarm. She glanced back. “Quiet or loud?”
Ares didn’t answer. He drove his boot into the lock. It snapped, echo sharp in the hollow dawn. Mira snorted. “Loud it is.”
Inside, the warehouse smelled of rain, oil, and rat droppings. Pale light leaked through holes in the roof, turning stacks of crates into crooked tombstones. Somewhere far off, a train howled through dawn’s ribs.
They found the locker against the back wall—yellow paint peeling, Jonas’s sloppy tape seal half torn. Mira ran a finger over the seal, then flicked her eyes at Ares. “Want to do the honors?”
Ares dug the blade from his coat, slit the tape with one clean pull. Inside—cash wrapped tight, a binder bulging with ledgers, a sealed envelope marked Lin. Mira whistled low. “Guy had a flair for drama.”
Ares didn’t speak. He ripped the envelope open. Inside—photos. His grave, half-dug. His body, bruised and bound in the dirt. Jonas’s neat signature on an old contract: Deliver the body to Petrov. Alive if possible.
Mira read over his shoulder, breath ghosting his ear. “That’s his confession. Black and white.”
Ares’s hands tightened. The edges of the photo curled in his fists. “No. It’s his headstone.”
She nudged the crate with her boot. “So we leak this? Or feed it to him first?”
“Both.” Ares shoved the papers into the duffel, snapped the binder shut. He looked at Mira, eyes sharp as the blade still warm in his hand. “Burn the cash. We don’t buy our way out.”
Mira cocked an eyebrow. “Nice to see you’ve stayed allergic to easy money.”
He didn’t grin. He flicked his lighter under the stack. Flames chewed green bands. Smoke curled into the beams, dancing with shadows too stubborn to leave.
They stepped outside as the cash smoldered, door swinging shut behind them. Rain hissed on burning secrets inside.
A black sedan idled across the street—windows fogged, engine whispering. Mira’s hand slid to her pistol, fingers drumming the cold steel.
“You see it?” she murmured.
Ares’s eyes narrowed. One shape in the driver’s seat. Another in back, head ducked low.
“Jonas?” Mira asked.
“Not yet,” Ares said. He stepped off the curb, boots splashing through cold puddles. Mira moved with him, breath tight, heartbeat steady as thunder.
They stopped five feet from the car. A rear window slid down. Smoke drifted out—cheap cigar, cheap suit. The man inside leaned forward, pale skin, rat eyes, grin stitched too wide.
“Mr. Lin,” he crooned. “You made quite a mess tonight.”
Mira raised her pistol. The man didn’t flinch. He leaned back, let the driver’s window roll down instead. Jonas Lin sat there—same tailored coat, same soft hands signing death warrants for ghosts.
His eyes met Ares’s, and for a second, the city vanished—just two brothers staring through ten years of dirt and betrayal.
“Ares,” Jonas murmured, voice silk over rot. “You look… alive.”
Mira cocked her gun. “Wipe that smile, Jonas. He ain’t in the grave anymore.”
Jonas ignored her. He flicked ash onto the wet street. “You shouldn’t have come back. You should’ve stayed dead.”
Ares stepped closer. The rain blurred neon behind him. “And miss watching you beg?”
Jonas laughed. Thin. Brittle. “Petrov’s dead. His files? Worthless. No one will touch me. Not here.”
Mira barked a laugh. “Check your phone, slick.”
Jonas froze. The driver’s eyes flicked at him in the mirror. He dug a phone from his coat, thumb shaking over the screen. Headlines popped up—Petrov Dead. Blackmail Files Leak. Offshores Frozen.
Jonas’s breath rattled. “You… You think this buries me?”
Ares leaned forward, breath steaming the glass. “No. This just digs the hole. You climb in yourself.”
Jonas’s hand jerked to his coat. Mira fired first. The window exploded. Jonas’s shoulder kicked back, blood misting the air. He slumped against leather, gasping.
The driver panicked, jammed the car into reverse. Ares fired twice—glass, rubber, metal shrieking. The sedan lurched sideways, slammed a hydrant. Steam hissed into dawn’s cold.
Mira yanked Ares back. Sirens bled somewhere far off, city finally waking to screams it had learned to ignore.
“You want him dead?” she hissed.
Ares watched Jonas cough blood against the seat. “No. He crawls. He rots slow.”
He dropped the empty mag, slapped another home. Mira covered him, eyes scanning rooftops for shadows with itchy fingers.
“Where to?” she asked.
Ares stared at Jonas one last time—his brother, the grave digger, the liar. Then he turned his back. “East. We finish it where it started.”
They climbed in the truck. Rain turned to hard needles on rusted steel. The engine caught on the first try, rumbling like an old threat. Ares gripped the wheel so tight his knuckles matched the dawn.
Mira leaned back, eyes closing for one heartbeat before snapping wide again. “What happens if he comes after us?”
Ares’s voice was soft, raw enough to bleed. “He already did. Now we bury him the right way.”
The truck rolled out. Behind them, the sedan hissed steam into a sky that wouldn’t remember whose ghosts howled at dawn.
...
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ASH IN THE VEINS
The steel slab still stood at the western ridgeline when Ares returned at midday. The sun was higher now, carving the message deeper into the scorched metal with every flicker of heat. He didn’t touch it. Didn’t have to. The words were burned behind his eyes.We are not your past. We are your consequence.He stood there a moment longer, wind tugging at the collar of his coat, the dry scent of dust and burnt wire rising from the earth. Reyes approached from behind, silent, until the crunch of his boots gave him away.“They’re not just warning us,” he said. “They’re staging something. Making a show of memory.”Ares nodded slowly. “And calling it justice.”Reyes looked out toward the hills. “You think it’s just Vale?”“No.” Ares didn’t blink. “I think it’s what Vale left behind. A creed. A code. A wound still bleeding after all this time.”Reyes crossed his arms. “I’ve buried too many men to be haunted by ghosts.”Ares looked at him. “Then start digging again. Because this war... it didn
THOSE WHO REMEMBER
Because now, they had something worth defending.And for Ares Kai - the man who once lived only to destroy - that made him more dangerous than ever.The rooftop wind brushed over him, sharp with the chill of dusk but filled with the scent of food cooking in shared courtyards and the murmur of distant laughter. It was the kind of night that made a man forget, if only for a moment, how much blood had stained his past.But forgetting wasn’t an option.Mira stood at his side in silence. Her hand had long since slipped from his, but her presence hadn’t. She leaned against the railing, watching the city breathe. Her eyes were calm, but her voice, when it came, held a quiet weight.“Do you think they’ll come here? The ones watching?”He didn’t answer right away.Then, “Not yet. But they’ve taken notice.”She tilted her head. “Of you?”“No,” he said. “Of us.”Mira glanced back at the glowing blocks of Lin City - at the rebuilt shelters, the lights flickering in the old Assembly Hall, the hum
THE WEIGHT OF STILLNESS
Ares didn’t move.He sat by Elijah’s bedside long after the boy had turned back into sleep, his small hands tucked beneath his cheek, his breaths soft and untroubled. The notebook lay closed beside them - those sketches still etched into Ares’ mind.That last drawing... the three of them standing beneath a sun not yet drawn. No smoke. No sirens. No shadows clawing at the edge of their peace. Just presence.Ares leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, his head buried in his hands. His back ached from old wounds. His fingers were calloused from war. But none of that compared to the pressure behind his ribs now - the unfamiliar weight of not having to fight.Outside, the windowpane rattled gently in the breeze. There was no storm tonight. No cries. No coded transmissions. Just wind brushing across the roof and the distant clatter of tools as the early workers began their shifts.Mira’s door was still ajar across the hall, warm light spilling through the gap. He could have gone to her
EMBERS AND ROOTS
Mira didn’t move for a long time.She sat cross-legged on the floor, her arms resting on her knees, eyes fixed on the sleeping boy and the man beside him. The only sound was the low hum of the generator outside and the steady breath of a child who finally, finally, had no reason to be afraid.Ares didn’t speak either. He leaned back against the wall, knees bent, one hand resting protectively near Elijah’s shoulder, the other slack on his thigh. Every now and then, his eyes flickered open - checking, listening - but the tension he used to wear like armor had softened into something else.Stillness.Not weakness. Not surrender.Just the absence of running.Mira eventually pushed herself up, bones stiff, and moved to sit beside Ares. He shifted slightly, making room, careful not to wake the boy.They didn’t touch - not yet. But their shoulders were close enough to share warmth.“You should sleep too,” she murmured.“I will,” Ares said. “Just... not yet.”She nodded.A long breath passed
THE PROMISE OF STAYING
The Assembly Hall was quiet the next morning.Not silent - there were distant boots on tile, quiet murmurs of volunteers laying cables and pinning up maps -but the kind of quiet that came after storms. The kind you earned. Ares stood near the north-facing window, watching as the mist lifted off the shattered rooftops of Lin City.Behind him, Elijah tugged at his sleeve.“Is this where they argue?” he asked.Ares smirked. “Sometimes. Mostly, they try to listen.”Elijah nodded solemnly, like that was harder.The boy wore a scarf too big for him and boots slightly too worn. His hair still stuck up in wild tufts from sleep, and he held The Little Prince under one arm like it was a secret weapon. Ares rested a steady hand on his son’s back as they stepped inside.Some of the council members were already seated. Kara gave a quick wave. The woman from the South End was bouncing her baby with one hand and flipping through ration figures with the other. Hawk stood by the coffee dispenser, pour
THE WEIGHT OF PEACE
The Assembly Hall was quiet the next morning.Not silent - there were distant boots on tile, quiet murmurs of volunteers laying cables and pinning up maps - but the kind of quiet that came after storms. The kind you earned. Ares stood near the north-facing window, watching as the mist lifted off the shattered rooftops of Lin City.Behind him, Elijah tugged at his sleeve.“Is this where they argue?” he asked.Ares smirked. “Sometimes. Mostly, they try to listen.”Elijah nodded solemnly, like that was harder.The boy wore a scarf too big for him and boots slightly too worn. His hair still stuck up in wild tufts from sleep, and he held The Little Prince under one arm like it was a secret weapon. Ares rested a steady hand on his son’s back as they stepped inside.Some of the council members were already seated. Kara gave a quick wave. The woman from the South End was bouncing her baby with one hand and flipping through ration figures with the other. Hawk stood by the coffee dispenser, pou
