"Is it true?" James's voice was tight as he stepped into the baseball team's locker room.
Every head turned. The sound of laughter and chatter died instantly. It wasn't every day the basketball captain stormed into the baseball wing — especially not looking this angry.
Dranred glanced up from his locker. "Let's talk outside," he said evenly, grabbing his jacket and heading for the exit.
James followed him out, his footsteps heavy with frustration.
Once they were alone, James thrust a folded newspaper at him. The headline blared across the front page — CONGRESSMAN MASTERSON UNDER INVESTIGATION FOR ILLEGAL DRUG OPERATIONS.
The photo beneath it showed Dranred's grandfather.
"So you knew?" James demanded. His tone was sharp, almost hurt.
Dranred took the paper calmly. "Adults," he muttered with a faint, almost weary smile. "They cause more trouble than kids, don't you think?"
James stared at him, disbelief in his eyes. "How can you stay so calm? Your grandfather is being accused of corruption, abuse — even drug trafficking. How can you still smile?"
Dranred folded the paper neatly before replying. "It's his mess, not mine. If he's guilty, then he has to face justice — no exceptions."
James's brow furrowed. "So… you think he's guilty?"
"I'm not saying anything," Dranred replied. "It's not my place to judge. That's the police's job." He hesitated, then added quietly, "But James… I need to ask you something. Tell your dad to stay out of this case."
That stopped James cold. "What?"
Dranred met his gaze. His tone was calm, but his eyes carried something else — warning, maybe fear. "Just… tell him to be careful. This isn't a normal case."
James didn't answer. But a chill crept through him.
Days later, Lieutenant Joshua Christopher — James's father — began receiving death threats.
James discovered one of them when he noticed a small package hidden near his father's desk. Inside was a letter, its message printed in red ink: STOP THE INVESTIGATION OR YOUR FAMILY PAYS THE PRICE.
James stormed outside, the box in his hands. His father was on the porch, reviewing documents under the yellow porchlight.
"How long have you been getting these?" James demanded, setting the box down hard on the table.
Joshua froze, startled. "Where did you get that?"
"Why didn't you tell us?" James shot back. "Why hide something like this?"
"Sit down," the officer ordered, cutting him off. His tone was firm, but not angry. He gestured toward an empty chair beside him.
James hesitated, then sat.
"I don't want your mother or your sisters to know," Joshua said quietly. "They'll only panic. I can handle this — and I'd appreciate it if you kept it between us."
James clenched his fists. "This is because of Dranred's grandfather, isn't it?"
Joshua looked at him sharply. "Did Dranred tell you something?"
"Should he have?" James shot back.
Joshua's silence was answer enough. "Just… don't worry about it," he said finally. "I'll take care of it."
James's frustration boiled over. "You're telling me not to worry, but Dranred clearly knows more than I do! Why is everyone keeping secrets from me?"
"James." Joshua's tone softened, but it carried authority. "This is not your burden. I'm your father — let me deal with this. Promise me you won't tell your mother. She panics easily, and your sisters won't understand any of it. Adults… handle things differently."
James stood abruptly. "I don't understand you," he muttered, his voice shaking with anger and confusion. He turned toward the house, pushing the door open.
But before he could step inside, he froze.
The sound of an engine broke the stillness of the night — slow, deliberate. Headlights swept across the front yard.
Someone was out there.
He heard the car stop right in front of their house.
James turned toward the window — but before he could even see who it was, his father lunged at him, knocking him to the ground just as gunfire shattered the air.
"Dad—!"
Joshua grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the living room, slamming the door shut behind them as bullets tore through the walls and windows.
"Joshua, what's happening?!" his wife cried from the staircase, clutching Estelle and Rosette close to her.
"Get down!" Joshua shouted. The sound of gunfire thundered outside, glass shattering like rain. Bullets punched through the walls, splintering wood.
James ducked beside his father, shielding his mother and sisters.
"Dad, what's going on?" Estelle's voice trembled.
Joshua didn't answer — because something small rolled through the doorway and hit the floor with a metallic clink.
A canister.
Smoke hissed out, filling the room with thick gray fog.
"Cover your noses!" Joshua commanded, pulling his shirt over his face. He herded his wife and daughters toward the back of the house. James followed, coughing through the haze.
They burst through the back door into the cold night. The air outside was sharp and heavy with the smell of gunpowder.
Near the garage, James spotted an old SUV covered by a tarp.
Gunfire erupted again — this time from the second floor. Voices shouted from inside the house:
"They're not in here!"
A figure wearing a gas mask appeared at one of the back windows, spotting them instantly.
"Run!" Joshua barked, firing a few rounds toward the intruder as he guided his family behind the vehicle. He opened the rear door and pushed his wife and daughters inside.
Then he turned to James. "Driver's seat — now!"
James froze. "Dad, what about you? You're coming, right?"
"I'll follow!" Joshua said firmly, gripping his son's shoulder. "I just need to make sure they don't come after you. Go — protect them."
He glanced at his wife — her face pale, her eyes wide with fear — then at his daughters, huddled together, clutching her hands.
"I'll be with you soon," he said softly, and gave her hand one last squeeze.
"Go now!"
Through the open back door, shadows moved — armed men advancing fast. Joshua shut the car door, turned, and opened fire.
"James!" he yelled. "Get them out of here!"
James gripped the steering wheel hard, heart pounding in his ears. He started the engine. The car roared to life — and as it lurched forward, he saw through the side mirror what he would never forget:
His father, still firing.
Then a shot — a single, sharp crack.
Joshua staggered backward, clutching his side, his knees buckling.
James slammed on the brakes, the tires screeching. "Dad!"
The world seemed to slow, the air thick with smoke and screams, as he turned back toward the falling figure of the man who had just saved their lives.
James froze as he saw a man step toward his father.
There was a single, deafening gunshot.
Joshua collapsed instantly — a dark red bloom spreading across his forehead.
From the back seat, Rosette, Estelle, and their mother saw everything. Their screams tore through the night.
"Joshua!" his wife cried, reaching for the door. But the moment she tried to get out, bullets shattered the air again, forcing her back.
James's hands trembled on the steering wheel. His throat burned. Every part of him wanted to run to his father — but he knew what Joshua would have told him:
Protect them.
With tears blurring his vision, he slammed his foot on the gas. The tires screeched, and the car surged forward, bullets raining against the metal like hail.
"Mama!" Estelle screamed suddenly.
James turned just in time to see his mother's body jerk — blood splattering across the windshield. Her head slumped sideways, and Rosette let out a choked sob as their mother's body fell limp across her lap.
"Mama… Mama, wake up…" Rosette whispered, shaking her, but there was no response.
James's vision clouded with tears. His knuckles were white against the steering wheel.
He couldn't stop — he mustn't stop. The men's headlights glared behind them, bullets whistling past as another car gave chase.
"James, what do we do?" Estelle cried, holding Rosette tight.
He didn't answer. He couldn't. The only thing he heard was the roar of the engine and the pounding of his heart.
Then — BANG!
The rear tire exploded. The steering wheel jerked violently. Estelle screamed again as the car swerved out of control.
Through the chaos, James saw a motorbike racing past — for a split second, he thought he recognized the rider. But that brief moment of distraction was enough.
"James! Look out!" Estelle shrieked.
He snapped his gaze forward — just in time to see the blinding lights of a massive truck ahead.
He yanked the steering wheel hard to the side, tires screaming against the asphalt. The car clipped the truck's fender, glass shattering, metal twisting.
Then — impact.
The world spun. The windshield exploded into a thousand shards as the car slammed into a tree.
Silence followed. Smoke filled the air. The hood was crushed like paper.
James tried to move, but his body wouldn't respond. His hands were pinned, blood dripping from his forehead. He could hear Estelle's faint crying somewhere behind him — and Rosette's voice, trembling, calling for their mother.
Then darkness swallowed everything.