The moment we stepped through the door, silence reigned like a king reclaiming his throne. Not the peaceful kind. The thick, heavy kind that made your bones itch. Drek slammed the door shut behind us.
"What in blazing hell was that?" he barked. His voice cracked like thunder in a storm cloud sky. We hadn't said a single word during the drive back. Not a joke, not a curse, not even a grunt. I had kept watch through the rearview mirror, checking for any tails. None. Not yet.
I peeled off my jacket and let it fall onto the couch. "Don't know. Wasn't me who pulled the damn trigger."
Drek's face twisted, full of frustration and suspicion. "You shut the hell up! You know everything in this assassin game. You're the one who thinks three steps ahead. So think now. Why was Rasto killed?"
I walked over to the sink and splashed water on my face. The icy cold bit through my skin like guilt. I stared at my reflection. My tired eyes, the bags beneath them. I hadn't looked this shaken in years.
"To shut him up." I said flatly. My hands trembled slightly as I dried them. Drek's eyes burned holes into the back of my head.
"That assassin… he wasn't ordinary," Drek said, pacing now. "That was precision. Military-grade. Clean. And we were right there. He could've killed us. But he didn't. Why?"
I nodded slowly. "Exactly. He didn't miss. He chose not to shoot us."
Drek turned to me with fire in his gaze. "So what's the message, Scar? That we're being toyed with? That some psycho wants to play puppet master?"
I met his eyes. "Solomon Wroth Wis. That name alone reeks of legacy, of money, of someone who's not used to hearing 'no.'"
"Who the hell is he?!" Drek growled.
"I don't know him, Drek. I swear it."
Drek wasn't buying it. "Don't lie to me! Someone wants us dead, and you're telling me you don't know why? He seems to know you. Probably someone who you wronged. You damn know, you fucker."
I didn't answer. I just walked past him into my room and shut the door behind me. Let him scream. Let him curse. None of it mattered now. I collapsed onto my bed, staring at the ceiling as thoughts spun like shurikens in my mind.
I needed answers. And I needed them now.
The glow from my laptop bathed the room in a pale blue hue. My fingers flew across the keyboard as I bypassed encryption, hacked into files guarded by nations. The International Council had a black vault database meant for eyes that outranked generals. But I had keys forged in blood and fire.
Two names. Same spelling. Same enigma. Solomon Wroth Wis. One, a Mexican mogul. The other, an American power ghost.
The Mexican was a blooded prince of a crime empire. Son of a political warlord. Tied to assassinations that shook the pillars of Mexico's elite. Cold. Calculated. Ruthless. Sixty-seven, with a trail of bodies behind him and a fortune nearing nine hundred million dollars.
The American? Worse. A ghost. Former goon to Suras Biter—the tobacco god. Rose through the ranks with a silver tongue and a dagger behind his back. Betrayed his master. Took over Ash Smoke. Killed everyone who helped him do it. Now he was silent, buried under shell companies, offshore accounts, and false identities.
Two monsters. One name. I didn't sleep that night.
Morning came like a slap.
I got dressed in black—a tailored suit that made me look like death's accountant. I was supposed to meet Marco Diskel today. Our broker. A necessary evil. And a man I had cheated by not using him for the Mokel contract.
At the door, I ran into Jhea. She looked bright, dressed for school.
"Where are you going?" I asked.
"Exam. Final one. Didn't I tell you?"
I blinked. She had. Guilt trickled in.
"Right. Good luck."
She flashed a smile that somehow reminded me what innocence used to look like, and she was gone.
I headed to the kitchen. Bread. Mayonnaise. Tea. Basic, but it tasted like fuel.
Drek strolled in, also suited up. I watched him. Still angry.
"Still mad?" I asked.
He didn't answer. Just poured himself tea.
"Look," I said, "I dug into it. There are two men named Solomon Wroth Wis. Both dangerous. Both rich enough to erase us with a blink."
That caught his attention. "Two of them?"
"Mexican and American. Doesn't matter which. Both have more reach than we ever will."
"And we've pissed one off?"
"Apparently."
He leaned against the counter, tension rolling off him. "You need to stop hiding shit from me. If you know something—"
"I don't!" I snapped. "But I'll find out. And when I do, I'll kill him."
Drek didn't respond. He grabbed his tea, then turned to leave.
"Marco's got a gig for us," I offered.
He paused. "Keep it. I'm out. This partnership? Done."
He walked off.
My hands clenched. We needed to stand together. But if he wanted to play lone wolf, he'd see how quickly the forest devours the weak.
I finished my breakfast and bolted from the house. Marco was waiting, and being late wasn't an option. I didn't take my car—too risky. I flagged a taxi and gave the driver the address.
My mind wandered.
Rasto's death had been too perfect. No witnesses. No sounds except the gunshot. A hybrid assassin had done it—one of those elite shadows trained by nations, bought by billionaires.
The message was clear.
We weren't just targets. We were prey.
And the hunter was already inside the maze.
When I reached Marco's office, I found him leaning against his desk, a scotch in hand and a frown that could cut steel.
"You didn't use me."
Straight to the point.
"We had to move fast."
"Bullshit. You're slipping. And slipping gets people killed."
"People like Rasto?"
That got his attention.
I told him everything. Not all the details—but enough.
He paced, muttering curses in five languages.
"You're telling me a Wis has eyes on you? And Drek? What did you boys do?"
"Nothing. I swear it."
Marco looked at me long and hard, then finally said, "If this is true, then you're going to need more than money. You're going to need allies."
"Then find me some."
He grinned. "It's gonna cost you."
"Everything good does."
He handed me a dossier. "This hit? Clean. High value. Real cash. But it's bait. You're being watched. Take it if you want—but the second you step on that stage, every sniper in the industry will be watching."
I nodded slowly. "Let them watch."
Because I had a new goal now.
Find Solomon Wroth Wis.
And burn his entire world to ash.