The rain fell softly over Ravenbrook City, washing the streets clean but doing little to cleanse the memories that haunted its shadows. On a quiet, dimly lit street, a figure stood motionless beneath a flickering lamppost. His name was Silas Kane, though no one in this city remembered it anymore. To them, he was a ghost—a forgotten footnote in a story nobody cared to reread.
He adjusted the cuff of his black coat, his eyes fixed on a luxurious apartment building across the street. Apartment 7B. Home to Daniel Miller—the first name on his list.
Daniel had been one of them. Not the cruelest, not the ringleader, but he had been there. He had laughed when Silas was shoved into lockers, and he had turned away when Silas begged for help. Daniel was a bystander, and in Silas's eyes, that made him just as guilty as the rest.
Silas's lips curled into a cold, lifeless smile. The first lesson begins tonight, he thought.
---
Inside his apartment, Daniel Miller scrolled through social media, oblivious to the danger lurking outside. He was a successful marketing executive now, with a comfortable life, a expensive car, and friends who admired him. He had forgotten the past—or perhaps, he had chosen to forget.
His phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number:
Remember Blackwood High?
Daniel frowned. Who was this? A prank? He deleted the message and poured himself a drink. He had no idea that those three words were a death sentence.
---
Silas moved like a shadow, slipping into the building with ease. He had spent weeks studying Daniel's routine—the times he left for work, the days he ordered takeout, the nights he stayed up late watching movies. Silas knew everything. And now, he was here to collect what was owed.
He reached Daniel's door and picked the lock with practiced precision. Inside, the apartment was dark except for the glow of the television. Daniel was asleep on the couch, an empty glass resting on his chest.
Silas stood over him, watching. This was the moment he had waited ten years for. The moment he would show them that the past never truly dies.
He reached into his coat and pulled out a small, carefully crafted syringe filled with a clear liquid. A special formula—one that would induce a heart attack, leaving no trace of foul play. Perfect. Clean. Just like his plan.
He injected the liquid into Daniel's neck. Daniel's eyes fluttered open for a brief moment, confusion and fear flashing in them before they went still forever.
Silas leaned close and whispered, "Lesson one: Silence has consequences."
He left as quietly as he had arrived, disappearing into the rain-soaked night.
---
The next morning, the city woke up to the news of Daniel Miller's sudden death. "Tragic accident," the reports called it. "A young life cut short by a heart attack."
But miles away, in a dusty police precinct, Inspector Alistair Finch wasn't so sure.
Finch sat hunched over his desk, a half-eaten raspberry pastry in one hand and a case file in the other. His eyes were sharp, focused, and unlike anyone else in the room, he saw what others missed.
"Heart attack?" he mumbled to himself, scanning the preliminary report. "Thirty-two-year-old fitness enthusiast with no history of health issues? Unlikely."
He took a bite of his pastry, sugar dusting the corners of his lips. His mind was already connecting dots that didn't seem to exist yet. Something about this felt… intentional.
He opened his laptop and began digging. Daniel Miller's life unfolded on the screen—his job, his friends, his past. And then Finch saw it.
Blackwood High School.
A name that meant nothing to most but everything to him. He had seen it before, in another case, another time. A place where darkness had festered.
He leaned back in his chair, a strange excitement bubbling within him. This was no accident. This was the beginning of something far more calculated.
And he was going to stop it.
---
Silas Kane stood in front of a large board in his hidden room—a room filled with blueprints, chemical formulas, and photographs. Twenty-five faces stared back at him, each one marked with a red X except for one. Daniel Miller's photo was now crossed out.
Twenty-four to go.
He picked up a marker and circled the next name on the list.
Ethan Croft.
The ringleader. The one who had started it all.
Silas's expression remained cold, detached. But inside, a fire burned—a fire that had been ignited ten years ago and had only grown stronger with time.
He was no longer the helpless boy they had broken.
He was their reckoning.
And he had only just begun.