Chapter 3: Shadows of the Past

I never really believed that ghosts of the past could catch up to you — until that night. The rain had stopped, but the streets still glistened under the neon lights, like veins pulsing with city life. I leaned against my apartment window, the glass cold against my forehead. My hand absentmindedly traced the scar on my arm — a reminder of a job gone sideways, one of many.

I poured myself another glass of whiskey, the burn in my throat doing little to quiet the storm inside me. I kept thinking about that call from Blackwell. Why now? After all these years of staying in the shadows, why drag me back into the game? And more importantly, who the hell was watching me from the rooftops earlier?

A soft knock on my door yanked me out of my thoughts. I turned sharply, instincts kicking in. I never had visitors — not the kind who knocked, anyway.

I moved quietly toward the door, sliding the safety off my gun as I peered through the peephole. A woman, maybe mid-thirties, dark brown hair tucked under a soaked hood, her eyes sharp, scanning the hallway like she expected danger to be lurking in every shadow.

I hesitated. Then, something in her posture told me she wasn’t here for casual conversation. I cracked the door slightly, gun still hidden but ready.

"Who are you?" I asked, my voice cold but curious.

She looked at me, unfazed. "You’re Damien Black, right? You don’t know me, but we need to talk. It's about Blackwell — and something he’s gotten himself into."

Her words tightened my grip on the gun.

"Talk," I said, not opening the door further.

She glanced nervously down the hallway. "Not here. They’re watching both of us. You’re already on their list."

"And who’s 'they'?" I pressed.

She sighed. "You know who. The people Blackwell used to work for — and the people he betrayed. If you want to survive, you’ll hear me out."

Something in her voice — a mix of desperation and determination — convinced me to take a risk. I opened the door just enough to let her slip inside, then locked it behind her.

She pulled her hood down, revealing sharp features and tired eyes. "Name’s Evelyn. Evelyn Hart. I used to work with Blackwell, back when we thought we were on the right side."

I poured her a drink — she looked like she needed one.

"So, talk," I said again, sitting across from her.

Evelyn took a sip before answering. "Blackwell's in deeper than you think. Whatever you two used to do — this is bigger. He stole something from them. Something dangerous. And now they want him dead. And anyone connected to him."

My jaw tightened. "Why come to me?"

"Because you're the only one he trusts. And because... you're the only one dangerous enough to keep him alive."

Her words hung in the air. I leaned back, studying her. "What exactly did he steal?"

Evelyn shook her head. "I don’t know. But it’s bad enough that they're sending their best to clean up the mess. People like you — only colder."

I ran a hand through my hair, cursing under my breath. "Why does he always drag me into this?"

She gave me a tired smile. "Because you’re the only one who doesn’t run from a fight."

The weight of it settled on me. Blackwell had always been trouble — but he was also family. And family was the one thing I couldn't turn my back on, no matter how many scars it left me with.

"Fine," I said finally. "Where is he?"

Her eyes darkened. "Missing. And if we don’t find him first, they will."

I stood, grabbing my jacket and gun. "Then let’s go hunting."

As we stepped out into the night, I knew one thing for sure — whatever storm was coming, I was already in the center of it.

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