The night air, cold as steel, stung Ethan's face as Natalie and Ethan hurried through dark streets alive with imagination and suspicion. Every shadow felt almost alive; every car that passed by seemed suspicious. A city that had previously ignored him was now staring hard at him.
They arrived at a parking lot behind an old motel. Natalie unlocked a black sedan and tossed him the keys.
"You're driving."
Ethan frowned. "You don't trust yourself?"
"I trust me," she said, settling down comfortably in the passenger seat. "But I want to see how calm you are under pressure."
Without saying a word, Ethan started the car. Calmer than his nerves had been, his hands kept steady. The woman whom he had known for less than 24 hours had become his only ally now.
As the car merged into the high way, city lights floated by as if watching ghosts in the near distance.
Natalie spoke softly, "Vale said you would hesitate when the time came."
Ethan tightened his grip on the steering wheel. "And when exactly is that supposed to be?"
"The time when you have to choose whether you're still running from the past or ready to recover it."
Her statement merely hung in the air. He did not answer, but somewhere deep down, he actually knew. He had been running for too long.
They got into the up-town district before sunrise. Natalie led him through a back entrance into a tall apartment complex — sleek, modern, quiet. Inside was a tastefully designed interior: expensive-looking yet austere furniture, blackout curtains with the trace scent of leather.
"This safe house is on a false name," said Natalie. "No cameras. No traces. You will be safe-for-the-time-being here."
Ethan put his duffel on the couch. "Safe is not the same as free."
She half-grinned. "You will get used to the feeling; better than being dead, I assure you."
He took another look around. "So what do we do now? Hide and wait?"
"Not hide," she replied. "Plan."
Natalie crossed over to a shelf and retrieved a thin metal briefcase. Inside were photographs, documents, and maps of Eastbridge — gang territories, corporate links, and political names.
She pointed at one. "This is Locke Group's web. They control logistics, security, and half of all construction in Eastbridge. They also manage weapons shipments for select underground clients."
Ethan examined the map. "And Vale used to control those clients."
"Exactly," she said. "This is why Damian sees you as a threat. He cannot afford to have a man like you roaming around with Vale's ring."
Finger tracing across the map, Ethan stopped at one of the red circles marked Pier 19. "What is here?"
"Locke's storage hub. They use it for private cargo. We're guessing it hides illegal weapons and black money."
Ethan's face hardened. "Then this is where I start."
Natalie raised a brow. "You are not ready for that yet."
"I survived prison. I'll manage," he retorted.
She drew closer, eyes sharp. "You survived because you learned patience. Don't waste it now."
Her voice was soothing yet unyielding. She was right, and Ethan hated it. Yet something inside him had awakened — the same fire that Vale had once recognized.
Then, at about mid-morning, she threw a tablet onto the table. "Vale left something for you."
It displayed a recording.
Ethan hesitated before hitting 'play.'
Victor Vale had appeared — older, leaner, and yet with eyes that still glinted with command.
"Ethan Ward. If you are watching this, I am gone. You were never meant to live a quiet life. The world takes advantage of good men and you were one of them. But that ends now. The Phoenix Ring isn't a burden. It's a choice – rise, or burn. And when you rise, they will dread you more than they have ever dreaded me."
The video ended.
Ethan sat there, speechless. His throat felt constricted. Was it anger or sorrow filling him? Maybe both.
Natalie continued to scrutinize him. "He believed in you. That means something."
Ethan nodded slowly, determination darkening his eyes. "Then I'll see to it that his belief bears fruit."
By evening, Ethan stood on the balcony of the apartment. Below, the city lay in glow — a maze of power and corruption. He could almost see the tower where Damian Locke's office stood — tall, immaculate, invulnerable.
But nothing remains invulnerable forever.
Natalie joined him holding two cups of coffee. "Thinking about her again, are we?"
Taking the offered cup, he stared hard into the steam. "She used to say she loved the view from up high. Guess she still does."
"She made her choice," Natalie said quietly. "It's time for you to make yours."
He gazed at her. "So where do you fit in this, Natalie?"
She offered an enigmatic half-smile. "On the winning side."
The following day dawned early. Ethan was awakened by the noise of training implements clattering in the living room. Natalie had turned the living room into a modest gym, with mats, weights, punch bags.
"Rise and shine, Phoenix," she said with a smirk. "You wanted to train. Let's see what prison taught you."
Ethan cracked his neck. "Are you sure you want to find out?"
She gestured toward the mat. "Show me."
The first spar was over quickly. Natalie struck first, her movements sharp and precise. Ethan blocked, countered, and struck her shoulder. She smiled through the impact. "Not bad."
"Not done," he said.
They exchanged blows, challenging each other's resolving power. It was not merely training; it was control, rhythm, and trust built with each strike. Finally, she stepped back, panting heavily.
"You're better than I expected," she conceded. "But still too emotional."
He wiped the sweat off his brow. "Guess I'm human."
"Humans die," she said. "Winners do not."
This had hit him deep. He realized that this was no longer about strength. It was about the mind. If he wanted revenge, he had to become something devoid of emotions — something cunning, something that could not be stopped.
Natalie gave him a folder by night. "This is your first move."
Inside were photographs of a man named Ray Dorn, one of Damian's enforcers. "He runs Locke's warehouse operations. If you want information, start with him."
Ethan examined the photo. "Where do I find him?"
"Pier 19. Midnight. He expects a shipment."
Ethan closed the folder. "I will be there."
Natalie glared at him. "Don't kill him unless absolutely necessary. We need answers."
He nodded. "Answers will come after pain."
Rain fell that night, a heavy fall on Eastbridge. Ethan walked through it like a shadow, hood up, footsteps soft. The pier was looming in front of him — cranes, lights, and men moving crates under cover of darkness.
He saw Ray standing near a container, barking orders.
Ethan waited until he had an opportunity. One of the guards turned away, and he slipped closer. His heartbeat slowed. His hands remained steady.
It felt like being alive again.
Then the cry-a harsh "Who's there?" resounded.
Ethan moved forward. In the time it took for his heart to beat twice, he had slipped back behind Ray and was pressing him body and knife into the container.
"Tell Damian Locke," Ethan whispered in a voice cold as steel, "the fire's back."
Ray's eyes went wide. "You-you're supposed to be-"
"Gone?" Ethan cut in. "That's what they all thought."
He knocked Ray out in one punch, bundled him into shadows, and disappeared into the rain.
From a rooftop just across, Natalie observed through binoculars, a smirk faint on her lips. "Looks like the Phoenix can still fly."
Somewhere behind it, sirens wailed away in the distance as the pier lights flickered red.
With blood on his hands, Ethan continued walking without looking back. The city that once buried him was waking up-and so was he.
Somewhere far away, Damian Locke received the call - one name whispered in fear. His darkened expression was: "Find him," Damian said softly. "And burn everything he touches." The game began.