The echoes of gunfire still clung to the walls of the steel mill. Rain hammered through the broken roof, dripping into the circle of half-melted candles. The storm outside raged, but inside, all movement slowed—like the entire building held its breath.
Sam slumped against a pillar, his shoulder wound bleeding freely. He stared at Alex with hollow eyes, lips trembling as if words fought their way up but died before reaching his mouth.
Clara crouched beside him, torn between fury and pity. Her voice was sharp but shaking:
"You betrayed him. You betrayed all of us. And for what? To follow her?"
Sam's gaze drifted toward Maya, and for the first time that night, he looked unsure.
Maya's Reckoning
Maya Reed still stood in her circle of candles, but the poise was gone. She looked… smaller now, as though the storm had finally seeped into her bones.
Her hands shook as she whispered, more to herself than anyone else:
"I was supposed to end them. Victor Kane. Thomas. All of them. They destroyed everything I was."
Alex, chest heaving, his shoulder still bleeding, stepped closer. He holstered his weapon slowly, deliberately.
"You can still end them," he said. His voice was quiet but firm. "But not like this. Not with more blood. Testify. Expose them. Let their sins be carved into history where they can't hide."
Maya's eyes flashed with conflict. The avenger in her screamed for fire and retribution, but beneath it lay something older, more fragile—the terrified whistleblower from 1987 who had been silenced and buried.
Her breath hitched. For the first time, tears cut through the steel mask she had worn.
"I don't know who I am without the revenge," she whispered.
Alex's voice softened. "Then maybe it's time to find out."
The Surrender
The gun Maya had tucked at her side slipped from her trembling fingers and clattered against the concrete. The sound echoed like a verdict.
Lila stepped forward cautiously, pulling out her recorder. "Maya… if you're ready… tell me. Tell everyone what happened. Tonight. In 1987. All of it."
Maya looked at her, eyes wet, then nodded. Slowly.
And just like that, the game ended—not with another body, but with a confession waiting to be spoken.
Sam's Fall
Sam coughed, blood staining his lips. His gaze found Alex again.
"I thought… I was doing the right thing," he rasped. "But I… I just became another pawn."
Alex crouched, gripping his partner's shoulder tightly. "You lost yourself, Sam. But you're still alive. You can face it. You can own it. Don't waste that chance."
Sam's expression crumpled, torn between shame and gratitude. He said nothing more, but for once, his gun hand lay still.
The End of the Storm
Marcus, ever the observer, finally broke the silence with a dry laugh. "Well… that's one hell of an ending. Betrayal, redemption, confession—it'll make front-page history."
Clara glared at him, but Alex almost smiled. Exhausted, bleeding, but alive.
The storm outside began to fade, thunder rolling further into the distance. Inside the mill, the candles guttered and died one by one, smoke curling upward like the ghosts of secrets finally released.