“Mom will we be okay,” I asked

“Yes my sweet boy,” she said

“Where’s dad,” I said

“He had to go to a meeting,” she said with a cold smile

I could tell by my mothers tone, something was wrong.

“Umm… Liam hide in the closet don’t make a sound,” She said

“Okay mom,” I said with fear on my face

I huddled in the corner of my closet, clutching my knees to my chest. The darkness was stifling, but I dared not move. I had heard the window downstairs slide open, followed by the almost imperceptible sound of footsteps.

My heart pounded in my chest, each beat echoing in my ears. I strained to hear anything beyond the closet door. Was it just my imagination, or had I actually heard the muffled scream of my mother? I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to be invisible.

The creaking of the stairs was unmistakable. Whoever was in the house was coming closer. My breath caught in my throat as the footsteps stopped right outside my bedroom door. I could see the sliver of light beneath the closet door as the room was illuminated. Then, a shadow moved across the light, and I bit my lip to keep from gasping.

The door to my closet creaked open slowly, and I stifled a cry. Standing there, framed by the dim light of my room, was a man dressed in black. His face was obscured by a mask, but his eyes were cold and unfeeling. He looked down at me, his expression unreadable.

“Found you,” he said, his voice a low, menacing whisper.

He reached out and grabbed my arm, pulling me out of the closet with terrifying strength. I stumbled, trying to resist, but he was too strong. As he dragged me out of the room, I caught a glimpse of my mother’s lifeless body on the floor, her eyes wide open in a final expression of fear.

Tears streamed down my face as the assassin hauled me through the house. I didn't know where he was taking me, but I knew that my life would never be the same.

The assassin shoved me into the backseat of a sleek black car, its leather seats cold against my skin. He climbed in beside me, and the car roared to life. My heart was still pounding, the horror of my mother's lifeless eyes haunting my every blink.

For a while, we drove in silence. The city's lights blurred past the windows, a stark contrast to the darkness that had descended on my life. I felt the man's gaze on me, and I couldn't help but shiver.

"What's your name, kid?" he asked suddenly, his voice slicing through the quiet like a knife.

"L-Liam," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, as if committing it to memory. "Liam, your father messed with some bad people. Really bad people. He owed them, and when he couldn't pay up... well, you saw what happened."

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. "Why... why did you take me?"

He sighed, a sound that seemed almost weary. "I was hired to kill him and his family. That includes you. But I've been in this business a long time. Seen a lot of things. Sometimes... sometimes you gotta make choices." He glanced at me, his eyes softer than before. "I'm taking you in. It's not much of a life, but it's better than what was waiting for you."

I didn't know what to say. The fear, the grief, and the confusion were all too much. Instead, I just nodded, my mind numb to everything that had happened and everything that was to come.

The car slowed to a stop in front of a modest, nondescript house on the outskirts of the city. It looked surprisingly normal, almost cozy, with a well-kept lawn and flowerbeds lining the walkway. The assassin got out and motioned for me to follow. My legs felt like jelly, but I forced myself to move, stepping out into the cool night air.

He led me inside, where the warmth and light of the house felt jarringly out of place given everything that had just happened. The interior was neat and organized, with simple furniture and no personal touches. It was a place meant for function, not comfort.

"Make yourself at home," he said, his tone surprisingly gentle. "This is where you'll be staying."

I stood awkwardly in the living room, unsure of what to do or say. The assassin disappeared down a hallway and returned with a glass of water, which he handed to me. I took it gratefully, realizing just how thirsty I was.

"What's your name?" I finally asked, my voice still shaky.

He paused, then shrugged. "You can call me Alex."

Alex motioned for me to sit on the couch, and he took a seat opposite me. His eyes, now devoid of the earlier coldness, seemed almost... human.

"Listen, Liam," he began, leaning forward. "Your life has been turned upside down, and there's no easy way to say this, but you're going to need to adapt. Fast. The people who hired me won't stop just because your father's gone. They may come for you eventually."

I nodded, the weight of his words pressing down on me.

"I'm going to train you," Alex continued. "Teach you everything I know. How to fight, how to think, how to survive. With these skills, you'll have a chance to get revenge for your family. To make those responsible pay."

Revenge. The word echoed in my mind, mingling with the images of my mother and the horror of the night. I didn't know if I wanted to be an assassin, but the thought of avenging my family gave me a sense of purpose. A reason to keep going.

"Okay," I said, my voice stronger now. "I'll do it."

Alex nodded, a hint of approval in his eyes. "Good. Training starts tomorrow. Get some rest."

As I lay in the unfamiliar bed that night, my mind raced with everything that had happened and everything that was to come. I knew my life would never be the same, but maybe, just maybe, I could find a way to make things right.

"It's snowing," I said, looking out the window. The flakes drifted down slowly, coating the ground in a pristine white blanket.

"Yeah, it is. I didn't notice," Alex replied, glancing outside for a brief moment before turning his attention back to me.

"Well, no training today," I said with a hopeful smile. I could use a break, and the snow felt like the perfect excuse.

Alex's eyes met mine, and I saw a flicker of amusement before his expression hardened. "Training is still on. Meet me in the basement at 7."

I sighed, the brief hope of respite dissolving. "Got it," I said, trying to hide my disappointment.

The rest of the day passed slowly. I watched the snow pile up outside, its silence a stark contrast to the turmoil within me. As evening approached, I headed to the basement, the usual sense of dread and anticipation settling in my gut.

Alex was already there, setting up mats and equipment. He glanced up as I entered. "Ready?"

I nodded, though I didn't feel ready. I never truly did.

We started with the usual drills—hand-to-hand combat, knife training, precision exercises. The basement, with its cold concrete walls and harsh lighting, became a world unto itself, separate from the peaceful snowfall outside.

As the session wore on, Alex pushed me harder than usual. Every strike, every movement had to be perfect. My muscles ached, my breath came in ragged gasps, but I pushed through, driven by his words from before: You have the potential to be better than me.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Alex called for a break. I collapsed onto the mat, my body screaming for rest.

"Why the extra push today?" I asked, wiping sweat from my forehead.

Alex looked at me, his expression unreadable. "The snow reminded me of something," he said, his voice softer than usual.

I waited, curious.

"When I was your age, I trained in conditions much harsher than this," he continued. "Snow, rain, heat—it didn't matter. My mentor always said that the world won't wait for perfect conditions. You have to be ready for anything."

I nodded, understanding dawning. "So, this is about more than just today."

"Exactly," Alex said. "The people we're up against, they won't care if it's snowing or if you're tired. They won't wait for you to be ready. You have to be ready all the time."

I took a deep breath, the weight of his words settling over me. "I get it."

"Good," he said, a rare smile touching his lips. "Because you're getting better, Liam. Every day, you're getting closer to being ready."

The praise, though rare, felt like a warm glow in the cold basement. I nodded, feeling a renewed sense of determination. "Let's keep going," I said, getting to my feet.

Alex nodded, stepping back onto the mat. "Alright then. Show me what you've got."

The rest of the session passed in a blur of movement and focus. The snow continued to fall outside, but inside, in the basement, I felt a fire growing within me—a fire that wouldn’t be extinguished by any storm.

When we finally finished, I was exhausted but invigorated. As I trudged back upstairs, the weight of the day's training and Alex's words pressed heavily on my mind. I paused by the window, watching the snowflakes dance in the night.

"I will be ready," I whispered to the cold glass, the reflection of my determined eyes staring back at me. "No matter what comes, I'll be ready."

And with that promise, I turned away from the window and headed to bed, ready to face whatever the next day would bring.

The world outside the window was a blur of snow and light, but inside the small, warmly lit doctor's office, the atmosphere was tense and hushed. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic, and the walls were adorned with cheerful posters meant to comfort young patients. However, there was nothing comforting about the way the doctor furrowed his brow as he looked over his notes.

I was four years old, sitting on the examination table, my legs swinging idly over the edge. My mother stood nearby, her hands twisting anxiously in front of her. Her eyes were filled with worry as she watched the doctor, waiting for him to say something—anything—that might make sense of her concerns.

The doctor finally looked up from his notes, his gaze shifting from the papers to my mother. "What's wrong with him?" he asked, a hint of confusion in his voice.

"He hasn't cried at all," my mother replied, her voice trembling. "Not once, not for months now. He used to cry when he was a baby, but recently, nothing. He falls, gets hurt, nothing. He just... stays quiet."

The doctor adjusted his glasses and looked at me, his eyes searching for some clue, some sign of what might be wrong. "He's four," he said, almost to himself. "That's weird."

My mother nodded vigorously, her face a mask of worry. "Yes, exactly. He should be expressing emotions, right? He should cry when he’s hurt or upset. But he doesn't. I'm scared something’s wrong with him."

The doctor sighed, leaning back in his chair. He seemed to be considering his words carefully. "It's not uncommon for children to go through phases where they suppress emotions. Sometimes it's due to changes at home, stress, or even something as simple as starting school."

My mother shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. "But nothing's changed at home. He hasn't started school yet. He's always been a quiet child, but this... this is different."

The doctor studied me for a moment longer before turning back to his desk and writing something down on a prescription pad. "There are medications that can help. They won't fix the problem overnight, but they might help to bring out his emotions more, to make it easier for him to express himself."

He tore off the prescription and handed it to my mother. "Start with these. Keep an eye on him, and if there's no improvement or if you notice any adverse effects, bring him back, and we'll explore other options."

My mother took the prescription, her hands shaking slightly. "Thank you, Doctor."

The doctor nodded, offering a small, reassuring smile. "Just give it time. Every child develops differently, and sometimes they just need a little help."

As we left the doctor's office, my mother held my hand tightly, her grip almost too firm. I looked up at her, seeing the worry etched on her face. I didn’t fully understand what was happening, but I knew that something was wrong—something that made my mother sad and scared.

The days that followed were a blur of routine and medication. Every morning, my mother would hand me a small pill, watching anxiously as I swallowed it down with a glass of water. She would smile, though the smile never quite reached her eyes, and tell me it would help me feel better, that it would help me cry when I needed to.

At first, I didn't feel any different. I still watched the world with the same quiet detachment, observing but not reacting. I saw other children cry when they fell, laugh when they were happy, scream when they were angry. I saw the way their emotions flowed freely, uninhibited, while I remained a silent observer.

But slowly, things began to change. The first time it happened, I was playing in the backyard. I tripped over a loose stone and fell hard, scraping my knee. Normally, I would have stood up, dusted myself off, and continued playing. But this time, something different happened. A tightness formed in my chest, a strange, unfamiliar sensation. Before I knew it, tears were streaming down my face, and a sob escaped my lips.

My mother rushed outside, her face a mixture of surprise and relief. She knelt beside me, wrapping her arms around me. "It's okay, Liam," she whispered, her voice soothing. "It's okay to cry."

In that moment, I felt a release, a wave of emotions that I hadn't realized I'd been holding back. The medication was doing its job, breaking down the barriers that had kept my feelings locked away. I cried until I couldn't cry anymore, and my mother held me the entire time, her own tears mingling with mine.

As the days turned into weeks, I began to notice other changes. I laughed more easily, found joy in the simple things that had once felt distant. I still had moments of quiet introspection, but now there was a balance, a harmony between observation and emotion. I was learning to navigate the complex landscape of my feelings, to understand that it was okay to express them, to let them out instead of keeping them buried.

The doctor continued to monitor my progress, adjusting the medication as needed. My mother watched over me with a careful, loving eye, her relief palpable as she saw me grow and change. She encouraged me to talk about my feelings, to share my thoughts and fears. It wasn't always easy, but it was a journey we took together, one step at a time.

Years later, as I stood in front of the mirror in Alex's basement, those memories came rushing back. The boy who had once struggled to express his emotions, who had needed medication to bring out his tears, had grown into a young man with a fire in his heart and a determination to avenge his family. The journey had been long and difficult, filled with moments of pain and struggle, but it had shaped me into who I was.

As I looked into the mirror, I saw the reflection of a young man who had been through so much, who had faced his fears and come out stronger. The boy who had once been an empty shell was now filled with purpose, with a burning desire to make things right. And though the path ahead was still uncertain, I knew that I had the strength to walk it, to face whatever challenges lay in my way.

With a deep breath, I turned away from the mirror and headed to bed, ready to face whatever the next day would bring. The past had shaped me, but it did not define me. I was ready to forge my own path, to become the person I was meant to be.