Chapter 2

Catherine was already inside, ordering a drink. Soren stood at the curb, eyes still on the street. The black car didn’t move. But it didn’t have to.
Soren didn’t recognize the driver—but that meant little. His father had thousands of agents. He only needed to send a hint.
He’d sent the sigil.
Soren walked in and sat across from Catherine, who was already stirring cream into her drink.
Catherine
Catherine
You know, you’re acting all... serious.
Soren
Soren
(amused, trying to mask it)
Soren
Soren
Must be your coffee breath.
Catherine
Catherine
Don’t lie to me, Mr. Domestic Sunshine. What’s going on?
Soren
Soren
(nudging her cup) Drink your chaos juice. I’ll feel better once you’ve had it.
She narrowed her eyes but didn’t push. That was why he liked her. She asked, but she didn’t pry. Even when his hands shook slightly as he sipped his espresso.
They talked more. Soren even laughed. But the whole time, the pressure in his chest tightened.
He knew what this meant.
His father wasn’t just watching. He was warning.
He was calling him home.
.
.
.
.
Soren and Catherine walked in silence for a while. The sky was turning hazy orange. A breeze picked up.
Catherine
Catherine
You’re quiet again.
Soren
Soren
Just tired.
She eyed him.
Catherine
Catherine
You always say that when your eyes go sharp
He smiled faintly
Soren
Soren
Guess I’ve been around you too long
Catherine
Catherine
Soren.
He looked at her.
Catherine
Catherine
Whatever it is… you don’t have to carry it alone.
He didn’t answer.
How could he explain that the shadows of his past had caught up with him? That the life he thought he buried was still breathing, still tracking his every step? That one of the most dangerous men alive had just knocked on his soul’s door with a smile?
So he just smiled back.
Soren
Soren
I know. Thanks.
They reached her house. She waved, and he waved back.
Then he walked into his house. Alone.
.
.
.
.
The windows were closed. The curtains drawn. Soren sat on the couch, a single lamp casting a warm circle of light across the room.
He held a photo in his hand—Dominic, smiling. A picnic last spring. Their knees touching. Laughter frozen in time.
He set it down.
Then he opened the drawer beneath the coffee table.
Beneath books, napkins, and takeout menus was a false bottom.
Inside: a sleek, black dagger. Thin. Elegant. Engraved with a name in runes long forgotten.
He picked it up and rolled it in his hand.
He had been quiet.
But the wind was shifting.
And he could feel it in his bones:
They weren’t just watching.
They were waiting.
.
.
.
.
Author
Author
I'm sorry if this chapter is quite short unlike the previous one. but don't worry!! upcoming chapters would be longer hehe
Author
Author
thanks for reading this❤

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