Kai Langford - September 2120
I watch the car disappear down the road, taillights swallowed by the trees. The sniper's line of sight is clear now and that's my window.
I rush forward and melt into the shadows of the forest, my footsteps silent, my presence almost invisible. Every leaf, every rustle, every slight shift in the undergrowth counts. I try not to breathe too loudly. The sniper doesn't know where I have gone yet, but I can feel him.
I move with purpose. Shadows stretch beneath me like liquid, wrapping around roots and trunks to mask my approach. I can hear him before I see him, a faint, measured breathing, the soft click of a rifle safety being disengaged.
I'm close now. Too close for comfort, but I know I can handle it.
Then suddenly, a flash. A bullet cuts through the branches a hair's breadth from my shoulder. I swing behind the other side of the tree and my eyes narrow. It was too slow on my timing. That was close.
I dive to the side, letting the shadows curl around me like a living shield. Another shot cracks through the air. I roll behind a fallen log, the wood splintering under the force. Heart steady, breathing measured.
The sniper's scope swings toward me, trying to track my movement. He can't see the shadows twisting around me, obscuring my shape. I let him waste another few rounds while I reposition.
I step out of cover, letting a thin tendril of shadow lash out first, wrapping around the barrel of his rifle and wrenching it sideways. He stumbles, jerking back, firing wildly into the trees. I use the moment to close the distance.
Another bullet whistles past, and hits the tree next to me. I can feel adrenaline spike, but my mind is clear.
I strike next. Shadows coil around his legs, pulling him off balance and sending him crashing into a tree. The rifle skids across the forest floor, and he scrambles to grab it again. I don't give him the chance.
Shadows surge from me like dark water, slamming into him from all sides. He's pinned against a tree, struggling, arms flailing. I tighten the shadows around his wrists until he stops fighting. The rifle is trapped inches from his hands. Any sudden movement, any twitch, and it'll snap like a twig.
"Stop," I say, voice low, calm, controlled. "You don't get another shot."
He glares at me, teeth clenched, sweat glinting on his forehead. His breathing is fast. I can feel every shift in his weight, every minor adjustment he makes. I allow him to struggle, enough to remind him he has no control.
"Any movement and you won't like the consequences." I say.
My eyes sweep the surrounding forest, checking for any other danger.
He swallows hard, and finally falls still. I step closer, watching him, noting every expression, every flicker of fear. I tilt my head slightly.
"Who sent you?" I ask quietly. The kind of calm that unnerves more than shouting ever could.
He hesitates, knowing the answer has to come. My shadows tighten slightly, enough to remind him I'm in complete control.
I let a few seconds pass, letting the tension build. Then I move closer, one step at a time, ready to strike if he makes any sudden movement.
Even after nearly getting shot, my breathing is controlled and my body is steady.
"Now I won't ask again."
I crouch in front of him and fist my hand into his hair, forcing his head back. He hisses in pain but stays silent. Brave or stupid. It's hard to tell which yet.
I flick my wrist. The shadows tighten instantly, compressing around his chest and arms. He gasps, lungs fighting for air.
"I-I can't say," he chokes out.
I ease the pressure just enough for him to breathe. "Why?"
His eyes flick sideways, scanning the forest as if he expects someone to step out. He doesn't look panicked, which worries me.
"They'll kill me anyway," he says hoarsely. "So you may as well do it."
A slow smile pulls at my mouth before I can stop it.
"There are worse things than death," I tell him calmly.
That gets a reaction. His throat bobs as he swallows, but he still doesn't speak.
I reach behind me and draw one of my knives, letting the blade catch the light as I bring it into view.
He scoffs. "You think that scares me?"
"No," I say, rolling the knife once in my hand. "But this will."
I drive the blade down into his thigh and he screams, a raw, broken sound that echoes through the trees. His body bucks against the shadows, teeth clenched so hard I hear them grind.
I don't flinch.
I'm glad Ethan isn't here. This isn't something I want him to see. This part of me stays buried for a reason.
Maybe Daniel is right. Maybe I am just a weapon, one waiting to be fired. But when that shot came toward us, toward Ethan, there was never a choice.
"Why were you following that woman?" I ask evenly.
He tries to breathe through the pain, jaw locked, blood soaking into the dirt beneath him. When he still doesn't answer, I twist the knife slowly.
"I-!" His voice cracks. "I was told to observe her!"
"To observe," I repeat. "What does that mean?"
He says nothing again and I twist the blade.
"Okay, okay!" he shouts, panic finally breaking through. "My boss distributed a few Lunex counterfeits around town. Said to watch the people who took them. Observe their behaviour and report back."
I narrow my eyes. "Then why shoot at us?"
His gaze drops and his jaw tightens.
I grab his hair again and force his head up. "Look at me."
He hesitates, then exhales sharply.
"Because you weren't supposed to interfere," he mutters. "And because if you took her away… I'd be the one who paid for it."
The forest is silent again, except for his laboured breathing.
I release his hair and rise slowly, shadows tightening once more, but not enough to kill him... Not yet.
Part of me wants to crush him completely. Make him regret every second he pulled a trigger. Make him feel the same fear that shot through me when that bullet almost found me.
I step closer again, letting the shadows tighten just enough to remind him I am capable of anything. My knife still buried in his thigh.
"Your boss," I say slowly, voice low, almost a whisper, "who is he?."
He swallows hard, eyes darting to the treeline, searching for escape, but the shadows pin him in place. I can see the panic is creeping in now.
"I… I don't know his name," he admits finally, voice cracking. "He… he only gives orders. But… he said if we fail… we die."
"Die," I echo, letting the word hang in the air. The shadows press slightly more. He gasps again, struggling, but I don't flinch. I watch, cold, calculating, letting fear do the work I don't need to.
"You're lucky," I say. "I don't kill people who give me information." I step even closer, shadows brushing his skin like a warning. "But if you lie, if you withhold anything, you will regret it. Understand?"
"I can't," he says again. "I can't." The words come out thin, frayed.
"Then tell me where your hideout is," I warn, drawing my second knife from my pocket. I don't raise my voice. I don't need to.
His gaze flicks to the blade, then back to my face. He swallows. "I've only ever been to the warehouse by the docks."
The docks.
The word pulls me backward in time, the warehouse, the stacks of crates I never had the chance to inspect. Christopher Oswald standing there like he belonged, waiting for a deal that never finished, before we took him away.
Another memory follows before I can stop it.
Ethan, pinned against the sofa by Oswald's hand. The counterfeit almost injected into his neck. My jaw tightens.
"Do you know someone called Christopher Oswald?" I ask.
He flinches.
That's all the answer I need.
"So he's involved," I say quietly, stepping closer. "The counterfeits, do they run through him?"
The man's breathing turns erratic. The shadows tighten instinctively, responding to the shift in him before I fully register it... Then he moves.
He yanks hard against the shadows, desperate and reckless. The restraints falter for half a second but it's just long enough. He tears one arm free and dives for the rifle on the ground.
I move to block the shot, but he doesn't aim at me. Instead he turns the gun on himself and pulls the trigger.
The sound is deafening in the enclosed space. Blood sprays up the tree, across my clothes, my face.
I freeze.
His body slumps forward, lifeless, collapsing against the trunk before sliding to the ground and the forest goes silent again.
Too silent.
Shit.
I stand there for a moment longer than I should, shadows recoiling slowly, useless now. Another answer gone. Another thread cut before I could follow it.
Christopher Oswald. The docks. The counterfeits.
Someone high enough above him that death was preferable to talking.
I wipe the blood from my face with the back of my hand and force my breathing steady.
This just became a lot bigger than I hoped.
And a lot closer to home than I'm comfortable with.
I let out a slow sigh and glance toward the main road. Best start heading back toward Trinity before Ethan starts worrying more.
I bend down to take the rifle and move as shadows ripple faintly around my feet, swallowing my tracks as I go. Step by step, I push the forest behind me, keeping my mind clear, alert, and ready for whatever comes next.