The first body hit the concrete like a rag doll, barely a whisper.
Just like in Chicago — bodies hit the ground and nobody notices. No screams, no help. Just silence. That silence used to scare me. Now I crave it.
Aiden moved like a shadow swallowing sound. He yanked the guard's pistol and knife from limp fingers, their cold weight settling in his grip — muscle memory snapping alive, senses sharpening like a predator waking.
They thought I forgot this life. Though Forks made me soft. But this? This is who I am. Who I've always been.
Not Aiden. Shade.
This warehouse was a labyrinth of steel and shadows—three floors of tight corridors, dark corners, and makeshift barricades. They thought they'd trapped him.
They don't realize they just locked themselves in with me.
The last time I was cornered, I came out covered in blood and walking free. It's gonna happen again.
They were about to learn what happens when you cage a cornered wolf.
He made his way to the first floor, south wing, as he melted behind crates, heart steady, breathing measured.
Focus. Breathe. Just like Mrs. P drilled into me — "In a real fight, calm is deadlier than rage."
A goon strolled by, unthinking, chewing sunflower seeds, scrolling his phone.
He's not even paying attention. Don't worry, man — you won't need to finish that bag.
Aiden's hand shot out, closing like a bear trap around the man's throat. Fingers tightened, cutting off his airflow.
I used to hesitate. Used to flinch. Not anymore. You either act, or you end up on the floor.
With one swift motion, Aiden slammed the man's head against the crates — a sick crack echoed.
He's done. Just like that. Fast, clean. Not personal. Just survival.
The man went limp.
Another ghost. Another reminder I'm still breathing.
Aiden dropped him quietly, snagged the radio earpiece still buzzing.
"East catwalk, clear."
"North doors—silent."
"Dee inbound."
he's here.
Good. I want h timo see the wreckage. I want him to understand what she created — what he lost control of.*
They had no clue he was already here.
They think they're safe. They think they've got time. They're wrong.
No chance to prepare.
He moved swiftly to the second floor catwalk.
One step at a time. One floor closer to Dee.
Stairs creaked but Aiden's footsteps were quieter, a ghost's breath.
Ghosts don't trip alarms. Ghosts don't leave witnesses.
Ahead, two guards leaned on the rusted railing near the generator, rifles slung low, talking trash.
"Connie's crazy… but damn, she's fine."
...Connie.
Her name still hits like a hammer to the ribs.
They don't know the fire behind that pretty face. They don't know she burned me from the inside out.
Aiden melted from the shadows.
No more memories. Only mission.
Before either could react, the first guard's throat was slit — a slick, brutal swipe, silent and deadly.
It's like slicing open the past — no sound, just blood.
The second spun, panic blazing in his eyes.
Too late.
Aiden didn't hesitate.
He slammed the man hard into the railing—bone shattered with a sickening crunch.
Efficient. Final. No screams. That's the way Shade works.
Before he could catch his breath, Aiden yanked the rifle free and sent the body tumbling into the dark abyss below.
Let them find his body. Let fear start to spread.
Now armed, pistol in hand, suppressor swallowing sound.
Silence is mercy. I'm not here for mercy.
Three ghosts vanished this night.
And they won't be the last.
Next was the Control Room in the Upper Levels.
Four men stood scattered around flickering screens, weapons ready.
One cradled a shotgun, two gripped pistols, one babbled into his radio—Dee's voice crackling commands.
Four targets. Four graves.
Her voice makes my blood boil. She still thinks she's the one in control.
Aiden watched.
Waited.
Heart thundering.
Not fear. Not hesitation. Just the build-up before the blade falls.
When the shotgun blasted—he moved.
Controlled bursts — chest, neck, chest.
Every bullet lands. Just like at the range. Just like Steve taught me. He wanted me to be prepared. Guess what, Steve? I listened.
Two men dropped instantly, silence swallowing their screams.
Dead weight.
The last raised his pistol.
Aiden's shot shattered his wrist—bone breaking like dry twigs.
Try pulling a trigger now.
The scream was cut off as the butt of Aiden's rifle smashed the man's skull.
No mercy.
No hesitation.
Shade doesn't flinch. Shade doesn't blink. He finishes what Aiden was too weak to.
He dragged a chair to the monitors, eyes racing through every camera feed, tracing every patrol path, every heartbeat.
Their movements are a song. I know the rhythm. I know when it ends.
Death was choreographed. And he understood it.
I was born in chaos. Raised in death. This is my native language.
He moved, down toward the West Loading Bay.
Three men laughed by a weathered truck, smoke curling from their cigarettes.
Laugh now. You won't get another chance.
A flash of movement.
A smoke grenade landed, blooming into a thick haze.
Fog covers the kill. Just like Chicago. Just like the alley behind the market where I learned not to miss.
Chaos erupted.
Coughing, scrambling—then Aiden tore through the fog.
Knife glinting, pistol ready.
Let them panic. Let them flail. It won't save them.
The first man didn't even scream, the blade opened his throat like a zipper, blood spraying the cracked concrete.
Quick. Quiet. Beautiful in a terrible way.
The second barely flinched before a bullet slammed into his knee, then a crushing fist shattered his jaw.
He'll never talk again. Doesn't need to.
The third ran—too slow.
Running means hope. Hope doesn't belong here.
Aiden's hand caught his collar, yanking him back.
A flick of the wrist, and the man's neck snapped with a wet crack.
Done. No theatrics. Just silence again.
Final Hall – Dee's Door
Two men left.
Aiden smelled fear thick in the stale air.
Fear smells like sweat and gun oil. I know it well.
Blood and sweat mixed on his skin as adrenaline burned hot in his veins.
Every nerve is alive. Every instinct screaming: Finish it.
One guard stood tense, rifle raised.
The other knelt, silent prayer on his lips.
God's not here tonight. Only Shade.
Aiden moved like lightning.
First shot — the standing guard's knee exploded in a spray of bone and blood.
The kneeling man screamed—too late.
Second shot — silenced him for good.
That's mercy. Quick. I could've dragged it out.
Warehouse – Silent Aftermath
The world settled into a heavy, suffocating quiet.
The kind that presses against your skull. The kind that follows real violence.
Death lingered like stale smoke.
It always does.
Aiden stood bloodied but unbowed, eyes blazing fierce in the dark.
I'm still standing. After everything. After her. After Chicago. After the boys' home. I'm still here.
Shade had returned.
No. Shade never left.
And he wasn't leaving without burning everything down.
Not until I tear Dee's name out of the world. Not until every ghost that made me is silenced.