August 9th, 2025
At St. Evelyn's Home for Children, South Carolina - 9:02 PM
The night had already fallen heavy over the city, swallowing the streets in a thick curtain of silence.
At the edge of a lonely land, far away from the bustling lights of South Carolina, sat the forgotten grounds of St. Evelyn's Home for Children - its faded walls and creaking gates whispering of both sanctuary and sorrow.
Two black SUVs rolled in like shadows, their headlights dimmed, their tires grinding against gravel. The engines cut, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.
The second SUV's door creaked open first. Daigo stepped out, his iron bat resting on his shoulder, his grin as sharp as broken glass. Behind him, two of Lionel's men - broad, silent, faces unreadable - followed without a word.
From the first SUV, Lionel emerged with his usual poise. A tall, spectral figure in his dark coat, he seemed almost carved from the night itself. His dark eyes scanned the orphanage, cold and calculating.
Beside him stepped Kira, her long hair tied back, her demeanor calm but dangerous, like a blade sheathed but always ready. The three women who followed - Lionel's female killers - moved with a predator's grace, their weapons discreet but glinting under the faint moonlight.
Lionel gave no words of command, only a tilt of his head. It was enough.
Daigo smirked, spinning his bat lazily as he began striding toward the front entrance.
The five killers fanned out with silent discipline, their eyes sharp, their steps methodical.
Lionel's voice cut through the stillness, cold and sharp as a knife:
"No bloodshed. Don't harm the innocent. Especially the children."
The way he said it wasn't a reminder - it was a threat.
Daigo froze mid-step, then slowly turned his head back, his sneer curling wider.
"You can trust us, Boss," he said mockingly, swirling the bat in his hand like a toy. "We know where the line is."
Lionel's stare locked on him, unblinking. It wasn't trust in his eyes - it was warning. Daigo chuckled and walked on, unbothered.
As Kira moved to follow, Lionel's hand gripped her wrist firmly. She glanced back, eyebrows raised.
"Are you certain this is the place?" His tone was low, suspicious.
Kira's lips curved slightly, her eyes glinting with an unsettling confidence.
"You're forgetting something, Lionel. Ruth is my sister. That bastard was her ex-boyfriend. You think I wouldn't know where he came from? Where he hid as a child?"
Lionel studied her carefully. His silence was heavier than words. Finally, he released her wrist. Enough said.
They moved together toward the orphanage's heavy wooden doors, already cracked open from Daigo's forceful entry.
And then...
A cry tore through the quiet.
"AAH! - "
An old man's scream of pain echoed through the halls.
Lionel's steps quickened. Kira followed closely, her sharp heels clicking against the wooden floor. As they entered the main foyer, Lionel's cold eyes took in the scene.
The old janitor, frail and trembling, was on his knees. Blood trickled down from his mouth, his face swollen from blows. Surrounding him were Daigo and the five killers, looming like vultures circling carrion.
Daigo bent low, bat tapping lightly against the old man's shoulder as if toying with him. His voice dripped with mockery.
"Where's Ian Everhart? Hmm? Tell me, old man. Don't play dumb."
The old janitor wheezed, clutching his ribs, unable to answer through the pain.
Daigo tilted his head, sneering.
"What's the matter? Too old? Too senile? Or maybe too fragile to keep secrets?"
He raised his bat, the iron catching the dim light. His grin widened with anticipation -
"STOP."
Lionel's voice cracked through the air like a whip.
Daigo froze, teeth clenched. Slowly, reluctantly, he lowered the bat, glaring sidelong at his leader.
The killers also eased back, silent as shadows, though their eyes betrayed the hunger for violence.
The old janitor collapsed forward, coughing, clutching his chest.
The sudden creak of a door broke the tension.
A feminine figure appeared in the hallway. Mathilda.
Her hands clutched the frame as she stepped into view, her face full of fear and confusion.
Her eyes widened as they landed on Daigo, then the five killers, then finally Lionel. Their weapons glinted faintly, cruel reminders of the danger pressing into her sanctuary.
Daigo's lips twisted into something ugly.
"Well, well, well," he drawled, his eyes raking her form with predatory aggression. "What do we have here?"
Mathilda's breath caught. She took a hesitant step forward, her voice shaking though she tried to steady it.
"W-Who…who are you people? This…this is an orphanage. You must have the wrong place."
No one answered.
Daigo smirked and leaned on his bat, watching her like a wolf eyeing prey. The killers remained silent, their gazes fixed and unblinking.
Lionel moved.
Slow, deliberate steps carried him toward Mathilda. She stood frozen, caught in the pull of his presence.
His eyes locked onto hers, and in them she saw nothing human - only cold calculation, only inevitability.
The air between them seemed to thicken.
Mathilda's voice cracked.
"Please… if you're looking for someone, he or she is not here. This is just a home for children. They're asleep. Please - don't…don't wake them."
Lionel didn't respond. He stopped just before her, towering, his pale gaze drilling into her soul.
She could see her own fear reflected in his eyes.
For a moment, silence pressed down on the orphanage like a suffocating blanket.
And then Lionel finally spoke, his voice quiet, almost gentle - but no less terrifying:
"…Do not lie to me."
Mathilda's lips trembled. Tears welled in her eyes, but she forced herself to meet his gaze.
Her heart pounded. In her chest, in her ears, in her throat.
Inside the kitchen of the orphanage - 9:10 PM
The air in the kitchen was heavy with smoke, silence, and fear. A faint buzzing hum came from the old ceiling light, casting a pale yellow glow across the cracked tiles and worn cupboards.
The scent of Lionel's cigarette mixed with the faint aroma of boiled cabbage lingering from dinner hours ago, creating a strangely nauseating contrast.
Mathilda sat in a creaking wooden chair, her body trembling so hard it rattled the chair's legs against the stone floor.
Her hands clutched the hem of her skirt, knuckles pale, chest rising and falling in panicked rhythm. Every time the killers shifted their weight or exhaled, she flinched as though expecting a blow.
Daigo leaned lazily against the counter, spinning his iron bat in his right hand. His sneer stretched like a scar across his face. He enjoyed this - the silence, the fear, the vulnerability.
The five killers formed a loose half-circle around Mathilda. Each of them bore their weapon openly: knives and guns, a chain coiled around one's arm. None of them spoke yet, but their eyes did - hungry, predatory.
Lionel sat apart at the wooden table. Unlike the others, he looked calm, detached - legs crossed, a thin trail of smoke curling from the cigarette pressed between his lips.
The flame of his lighter flickered briefly when he lit a second cigarette before crushing the first in the chipped ashtray beside him. His stare was colder than any blade in the room, a stare that made the killers themselves feel like children awaiting punishment.
Kira stood nearby, arms folded, leaning against the refrigerator. She didn't smile, didn't sneer, didn't show any of Daigo's cockiness.
Instead, her eyes never left Mathilda, sharp and measuring, like a hawk watching a rabbit squirm.
One of the female killers stepped forward. Her boots clicked softly against the tile. She was tall, hair slicked back into a severe bun, her black leather jacket creaking as she moved.
Without a word, she pulled Lionel's phone from her pocket and unlocked it with a practiced swipe.
She held it up, tilting the screen so Mathilda could see.
On the screen was a photograph - a familiar one. Ian's face stared back at her, the same photograph Ruth once kept on her desk, only now cropped, digitized, stripped of its warmth sent by Leo.
The killer's voice was sharp, commanding:
"Where is Ian Everhart?"
Mathilda's lips parted, but no sound came out. Her throat felt tight, words trapped behind fear. She stared at the phone, stared at Ian's face, then at the killers' cold eyes. Her hands trembled harder.
"I…" Her voice cracked. She swallowed and tried again. "I - I don't know what you mean."
The killer lowered the phone closer to her face, the light illuminating her pale features.
"Don't lie to me. This man - he was here, wasn't he?"
Mathilda blinked rapidly, tears already swelling in her eyes. She wanted to deny it, wanted to protect Ian, but her heart pounded so hard it felt like it might burst.
She was surrounded - Daigo's sneer, the killers' weapons, Lionel's chilling silence. Lying felt impossible under such pressure.
Finally, she nodded, voice breaking:
"Yes… Yes, he was here. Recently. But I-I don't know where he went. I swear."
The female killer smirked faintly and looked toward Lionel.
Lionel shifted in his chair, exhaling smoke in a slow hiss. He tapped his ash into the tray, then rose to his feet. The chair screeched against the tile, and the sound made Mathilda flinch violently.
Every killer straightened, their cocky demeanors immediately silenced as Lionel moved. Even Daigo's grin faltered slightly.
Lionel stepped forward, each footstep echoing like a countdown. He stopped in front of Mathilda, lowering himself slightly, leaning in until his face hovered inches from hers.
His cologne mixed with the sharp scent of tobacco, making her head spin. His eyes locked with hers, unblinking.
"Are you telling me the truth?" he asked softly.
His voice wasn't raised - it didn't need to be. The cold sharpness in his tone cut deeper than Daigo's bat ever could.
Mathilda stuttered, her teeth chattering.
"Y-yes. Yes, I am. I swear it. I wouldn't-"
Lionel tilted his head slightly, studying her trembling lips, her darting eyes. He let the silence hang heavy between them. Then he whispered, so low she barely caught it:
"…Why do I feel like you're not telling me everything?"
Her eyes widened, panic flooding her chest.
"Wh-what? I… I told you the truth, I swear on my life."
He didn't blink. Didn't move. Just stared.
Mathilda's words tumbled out in desperation, her voice high-pitched, cracking under the weight of fear:
"He - he came here. Just three days ago. Ian did. But he left, he just left! I don't know where he went! Please, please, that's all I know!"
Lionel's expression didn't change. He took another slow drag of his cigarette, then exhaled through his nose, the smoke drifting across Mathilda's face. She coughed, shaking.
His gaze narrowed.
"And what about this… foreign girl?"
Mathilda blinked.
"F-foreign girl?"
"You mean Ellie?" she whispered after a pause, her voice trembling.
The killers stirred slightly at the name. Kira's eyes sharpened.
Lionel said nothing.
One of the female killers, the same who showed the phone, turned to him and spoke firmly:
"Boss… I think she's telling the truth. Her answers line up with my investigation at the airport. Ian Everhart flew three days ago."
Lionel inhaled slowly, then nodded once.
Mathilda sagged with relief, tears spilling from her eyes.
Kira spoke up for the first time, her voice calm but cutting:
"Then where is he now? Why isn't he here?"
Mathilda looked at her desperately, hands clenching her skirt tighter.
"As I said… I don't know. He just left suddenly. No goodbye. No explanation."
Lionel studied her for another long moment before stepping back. He sat down again, dropping into his chair with a casual grace, as though nothing had happened.
For a brief second, the air seemed to ease. Mathilda let out a shaky breath.
But the dread remained.
In another room, on the far side of the orphanage, a little girl crouched in the shadows.
The same girl who had played Switch with Ian not long ago. She was tiny, no older than ten, her small frame hidden behind a stack of old storage boxes.
Her hands shook as she clutched a cheap smartphone, the cracked screen glowing faintly in the dark. Her fingers moved clumsily but fast as she texted.
She hit send, then clutched the phone to her chest, holding her breath. She could hear the muffled voices from the kitchen, the sharp tones, the fear in Mathilda's replies. Her small heart hammered in her chest.
Suddenly - footsteps. Heavy. Drawing closer.
Her eyes widened, breath freezing in her throat.
The footsteps grew louder, echoing down the hallway. She dared to peek around the corner, and her blood ran cold.
Daigo.
The iron bat rested on his shoulder as he walked casually, his grin stretching wider when his eyes locked on her. He had seen her.
The little girl gasped, a sharp, terrified sound. She scrambled back into the shadows, clutching her phone tighter.
Daigo stopped in the doorway, tilting his head at her.
"Well, well, well…" he muttered, voice low and playful, but dripping with menace. His grin grew hungrier.
The phone slipped slightly from her sweaty hands, clattering against the floor.
Daigo smirked.
And stepped inside.
Back at Ricky's second house - 9:17 PM
The warmth inside Ricky's second house was the kind that made it feel far removed from the ugliness of the world outside.
The faint glow of the pendant lights in the kitchen reflected against the marble countertop, where Ricky and Ellie stood side by side, laughing as they tried to perfect their cocktails.
Bottles clinked together, citrus peels scattered across the counter, and the sweet, intoxicating scent of lime and rum filled the air.
Ian sat slouched comfortably on the couch, half-watching them and half-lost in his own thoughts. Their laughter drifted over like music, light and careless.
For a rare moment, he allowed himself to feel… safe. His lips tugged into a smile he didn't even realize he was wearing.
He wasn't just smiling at their joy - he was smiling at the memory of Mathilda's gentle voice, at the orphanage children's playful chatter, and at the fleeting sense that maybe, just maybe, he could be part of something normal again, something peaceful.
"You're terrible at this, Ricky!" Ellie burst out laughing as Ricky poured far too much vodka into her glass.
"It's called generosity," Ricky shot back with a grin, flexing his arm like he was presenting some grand art. "You should thank me later."
Ian chuckled softly. He leaned his head back on the couch and closed his eyes for a second, letting their playful bickering wash over him.
For someone who had lived in shadows, mental exhaustion, and obsession from his ex-girlfriends, this felt unreal. Fragile. Something he didn't deserve… but something he wanted to protect, no matter the cost.
His thoughts broke when a sharp chime cut through the air. It came from the coffee table beside him. He turned his head. A phone vibrated against the wood. Ellie's phone.
"Ellie," Ian called out, raising his voice just enough to reach the kitchen, "your phone's buzzing."
Ellie didn't look up, too busy trying to swat Ricky's hand away from her glass. "Check it for me! Who is it?" she called back.
Ian hesitated only for a breath before reaching for the phone. The screen lit up, the message preview showing a string of hurried words. He tapped it open.
The smile drained from his face instantly.
The message wasn't playful. It wasn't random. It was a desperate plea.
"Miss Ellie, please help. Mathilda is in trouble. Dangerous men here at the orphanage. They want some man named Ian. Please come fast. Please…"
The words blurred for a moment as Ian stared, his jaw tightening. His chest constricted, fury and dread mixing into something sharp and suffocating.
His hand trembled - not from fear, but from rage at himself. Someone was daring to endanger the safety of Mathilda and the kids. But who were they? Why were they looking for him?
Ian couldn't wait to find out.
He stood so suddenly the couch creaked beneath him.
"Ian?" Ellie's voice floated from the kitchen, still light, still unaware of the storm that had just arrived.
But he didn't answer. He couldn't. His legs moved on instinct, carrying him across the living room in a rush.
His heartbeat thundered in his ears, drowning out Ricky and Ellie's laughter. He shoved the phone into his pocket as if hiding the truth would somehow buy them time.
The door loomed ahead of him. He reached for the knob, yanking it open so hard it slammed against the wall.
The sound snapped Ricky and Ellie out of their bubble.
"Ian?" Ellie called out, her voice laced with confusion now.
"Where the hell is he going?" Ricky muttered, setting the shaker down as he turned toward the noise.
But by then, Ian was already gone. The night air swallowed him as the door slammed shut behind him, echoing like a gunshot in the sudden silence.
Ellie's stomach twisted with unease. She wiped her hands on her jeans and rushed toward the door, calling after him again. "Ian! Ian!"
Nothing. Only the distant hum of the city and the whisper of the wind outside answered her.
Ricky stepped forward, frowning. "What the hell was that about? He didn't even-"
He cut himself off when he saw Ellie's face pale, her eyes flicking toward the coffee table. Her phone was gone.