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The rain fell in thin, icy sheets, hissing against the metal rooftops of the city.
I stood in the shadows of an alley, my back pressed against the damp brick wall, my hand tight around the hilt of the dagger hidden under my coat. The night reeked of gasoline and danger.
Through the mist, I saw him — Victor Kane. The man who had destroyed my family, stolen my father’s business, and left me with nothing but rage.
He was laughing with his guards, unaware of the eyes fixed on him from the darkness.
For three years, I had waited for this moment. Three years of moving silently, of blending into the background, of becoming a ghost in his world. Patience was my greatest weapon — I knew one wrong step would get me killed.
But tonight was different. Tonight, he was vulnerable.
No armored car. Only two guards. No crowd.
My heartbeat slowed, my breath steady. I remembered my mentor’s words: “The right strike isn’t about speed… it’s about certainty.”
Victor stepped under the broken streetlamp, its flickering light painting his smug grin in gold and shadow. I stepped forward quietly, my boots splashing in a shallow puddle. One of his guards turned slightly — and that’s when I froze.
Not yet.
I stayed still, pretending to be part of the night. The guard scanned the darkness, then turned back to his conversation. I moved again, this time faster.
In two strides, I was behind them. My dagger slid free, catching the dim light. I grabbed Victor’s shoulder, spinning him toward me before he could scream. The blade pressed against his throat.
“Do you know who I am?” I whispered.
His eyes widened. “You…”
“Yes,” I said, my voice low and sharp. “The one you thought would never come back.”
His guards moved, but I pressed the blade harder. They froze.
The rain dripped between us, each drop ticking like a clock counting down his life.
“I could kill you now,” I said. “But death would be too quick for you.”
I leaned closer. “I want you to live long enough to lose everything you stole. To feel the same fear you gave me.”
I shoved him backward, letting him stumble into the puddle.
His guards rushed to him, but I had already melted into the darkness.
Victor’s shout echoed after me: “You’ll regret this!”
Maybe I would. But I had waited three years for the right moment to strike — and tonight was just the beginning.
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Ending line:
The real strike isn’t the first blow… it’s the last one they never see coming.
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The End
