The hospital room was silent, but not empty.
Three corpses lay sprawled across the tiles, blood pooling in widening stains. The sterile fluorescent lights hummed above, indifferent to the carnage below. To Harvey, it felt like the whole building should have been screaming—but instead, the world outside continued as if nothing had happened.
Viktor stood in the doorway, calm as ever. He glanced at his watch, then at the bodies. "We have less than fifteen minutes before hospital staff checks this floor. We need to clean."
Harvey blinked at him, horrified. "Clean? They're dead—there's blood everywhere—"
Viktor's gaze sharpened. "Do you want the police to find you here with three corpses? Do you want Aldrich's people to know you survived and fought back? Think, boy. You want revenge? Then you need to vanish. Like a ghost."
Harvey's throat went dry. His hands trembled as he looked down at the man he'd killed—the assassin's mask torn aside, his eyes still wide with that last, startled look of death. The blood hadn't stopped seeping from the wound Harvey had made.
He wanted to throw up.
Instead, Viktor shoved a black duffel bag into his chest. "Carry that."
Inside were industrial-strength gloves, plastic sheets, duct tape, bottles of cleaning solution. Harvey stared, numb.
"Move." Viktor's tone brooked no hesitation. "Lay down the sheets."
Harvey obeyed with stiff, jerking motions. The plastic crinkled loudly as he spread it across the floor. Viktor worked fast, his movements efficient, as if this was nothing more than routine. He dragged the bodies onto the plastic one by one, folding them neatly inside like broken dolls.
"Help me," Viktor said.
Harvey froze. "I—I can't—"
"You can. Or you'll end up like them."
The words cut through Harvey's paralysis. His knees bent, his hands grasped the limp, cooling arm of the man he had killed. His stomach lurched as he felt the dead weight—unnatural, heavy in a way no living body ever was. Together, they wrapped the corpse, taped it shut, and shoved it into the bag.
By the time the last body was sealed, Harvey's arms were weak, his chest heaving. His hospital gown was spattered with faint smears of blood. He couldn't stop shaking.
Viktor zipped the bags shut. "Good. You didn't faint. That's something."
Harvey stumbled back against the wall, gripping the silver watch in his pocket like it might anchor him. "Is this… what you do? Just—kill people? Clean it up? Pretend it didn't happen?"
Viktor's eyes flicked toward him, hard and unflinching. "Pretend? No. This isn't pretend. This is the real world. The one your father thought he could keep you out of. The one Aldrich dragged you into the moment he betrayed him."
He picked up one of the bags and slung it over his shoulder with casual strength. "You want to survive? Learn this first lesson. Death leaves no trace if you erase it. The police will find nothing but an empty room and a broken window."
Harvey's voice cracked. "And my parents? Their deaths? Who erases that?"
For a moment, silence. Viktor didn't answer right away. His jaw tightened, his eyes briefly darkening with something unspoken. Then he said, "That's why you'll fight. To make sure their deaths aren't erased. To carve it into the people who did this so deep it can't be forgotten."
Harvey stared at him. His pulse pounded in his ears. The words dug into his chest like hooks.
"Come," Viktor said, hoisting the second bag. "There's more to learn."
---
The night was heavy with rain as they exited through the back of the hospital. The parking lot was deserted, lit only by flickering lamps that cast long, distorted shadows. A black van waited near the edge. Viktor tossed the bags in like discarded cargo.
Harvey lingered at the edge of the light. He couldn't stop staring at the way blood dripped faintly from one of the seams, vanishing into the dark puddles of rainwater.
Viktor noticed. "This is your baptism, Harvey. The moment you chose to live in this world instead of dying in it. You carry their weight now."
"I didn't choose this," Harvey snapped, his voice raw. "You dragged me into it!"
"No," Viktor said, stepping closer, his presence towering. "They did. Aldrich did. Eleanor will too, if you let her. The only choice you have is whether you cower in grief… or you fight back."
The name Eleanor barely registered—just another crack of thunder in the storm of confusion swirling in Harvey's head.
Viktor leaned in, voice dropping to a growl. "And hear me well, boy. If you want to live in this world, you can't just survive. You have to kill better than they can."
The words were sharp as blades. They lodged deep inside Harvey, somewhere he didn't want to admit existed.
He clenched the cracked silver watch in his fist until the jagged glass cut into his palm. His parents' laughter echoed in his ears, but so did their screams.
The rain poured harder.
Harvey lifted his eyes to Viktor. And though his voice shook, his words came clear.
"Then show me how."
Viktor's expression didn't soften. But a flicker of approval passed through his eyes, like steel catching firelight.
"Good," he said. "Tomorrow, we begin."
The van door slammed shut, echoing like a coffin lid. The engine roared to life, carrying the bodies—and Harvey's old life—into the darkness.
And in that silence, Harvey knew the truth.
There was no going back.