CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER THREE
The rain hadn't stopped since I left home. It followed me like guilt.
Each drop hit my hood.
Marcus Henderson's mansion rose ahead, white walls, tall fences, lights off except one faint glow upstairs. I crouched near the hedges, watching it breathe in silence.
The plan was simple: in, out, quiet. He'd never see me.
But tonight, something in the air was wrong. I couldn't prove it but I felt something was not right.
I scaled the fence, boots hitting the wet grass. A flash of motion crossed a distant window, a shadow darting past the light. I froze. The place was supposed to be empty except for Henderson.
I moved anyway.
The back door gave easily under my hand. I slipped inside, greeted by the sterile scent of marble and money. Every surface shone. I scanned the environment looking for Marcus.
Footsteps creaked above.
I smiled under my breath. "Found you."
The knife sat easy in my palm as I climbed the stairs, slow and careful. My pulse stayed steady. I was burning with excitement internally but I had to stay as still and stealthy as a ghost.
As I arrived up, I continued to scan around the halls for my target. It was a big building so I knew it wouldn't be easy to find Marcus.
A thin strip of light escaped from a half-closed door. I reached it.
My hand touched the knob—
then stopped.
Something about the light was wrong. It was flickering a little too much it was concerning, I turned to the bulb, I squinted my eyes. It was disturbing. I struggled to ignore.
I pushed the door open. And what I saw...
Marcus Henderson hung from the ceiling fan, neck twisted, eyes staring at nothing. His feet brushed the carpet, swaying softly with the air-conditioner's hum. Blood pooled below him.
My knife slipped from my fingers.
He was already dead.
For a second, my brain refused to understand. Then rage bloomed like heat under my skin. Someone had taken him from me. He was my target.
I looked around. The curtains shifted. A window stood open, curtains flapping with the rain.
Outside, across the wet lawn, a figure in a black hoodie sprinted toward the street. Quick, graceful. Leaping the fence like it was nothing.
"There you are." My eyes locked on the person. I was filled with rage and there was only one way to let it out.
I ran to the window. For a flash, the figure turned its head—just enough for me to catch the curve of a woman's face under the hood.
I didn't know her, but if there's something I knew, it was her type. Clean killer. Precision. Smart move was distracting me with the flickering light.
She vanished into the rain.
I jumped from the window after her—but the world disagreed.
A car screeched into the street, lights flaring. I ducked back, blinded. When my sight cleared, she was gone.
Gone, and Henderson's corpse swung softly behind me.
I wanted to scream. The anger was acid in my throat. The need to kill clawed at me like an itch I couldn't scratch.
By the time I made it home, the sky was black. Elara wasn't back yet.
I dropped my coat on the chair, took of my mask, hid it, and stared at my hands.
I had gone out hunting and come back empty.
Then, from upstairs—
a sound.
It was a loud strange noise from upstairs. Lily's scream cut through it.
I bolted up the stairs, two at a time.
Her room was like hell, blankets thrown, toys on the floor. She sat in the corner, hair unkept, face wet with tears.
"Daddy!" she cried, pointing at the darkest part of the room. "He was there! The Quiet Man!"
I turned. Nothing. Just shadow.
My voice came out rough. "There's no one here, baby."
"He was smiling," she whispered. "Right there."
I hit the light switch. The lamp flickered once, twice.
For a heartbeat, I saw it—
two white eyes and a grin, hanging in the dark like a cut in reality.
Then light flooded the room, and it was gone.
My chest felt tight. I forced a smile, scooped her up, told her it was a dream. She buried her face in my neck, trembling.
I stayed until her breathing slowed. When she finally slept, I tucked the blanket around her and stepped into the hall.
The air there was colder.
As I turned toward the stairs, a whisper brushed past my ear.
A voice not loud but inside.
"Kill, or she's mine."
I froze.
My pulse roared. My heartbeat grew faster. I looked back into Lily's room—the nightlight flickered once.
By the time I reached the living room, I was shaking. Not from fear. From rage.
Someone had stolen my kill.
Someone else wanted my daughter.
The rain outside lashed the windows like fingers tapping.
The front door clicked open. Elara stepped in, soaked, holding a grocery bag and a frown. "You're awake. Thought you'd be in bed."
"Couldn't sleep," I said. My voice didn't sound like mine.
She hung her coat, eyes studying me. "What happened tonight?"
"Nothing."
"Don't lie, David." Her tone softened, almost pleading.
"Lie? No. Today was perfectly fine. I came home early from work today" I answered sharply. "Look who came late" I smirked at her. My mind clustered with thoughts.
She kept the grocery bags on the table. "Don't keep secrets from me. Not again."
I looked at her for a long time. Her eyes were tired but kind.
"I won't," I said finally.
She smiled a little. "Good. Because secrets ruin everything."
I nodded. But inside, the whisper still echoed, curling around my thoughts like smoke.
Kill, or she's mine.
And I knew it wasn't a threat.
It was a promise.