The city had never felt so quiet.
Not the usual quiet of late-night streets, but the kind that settles over a lifeless environment. The kind that makes every sound feel wrong. Cael Jaxon stood in the middle of it, soaked by cold wind and the faint drizzle of the night.
He hadn't slept in days.
He wasn't planning to sleep tonight either. It wasn't like he could.
The bridge beneath him groaned whenever a car passed, but traffic was thin. Cael leaned over the railing, staring into the dark water far below. The river was restless, blacker than the sky above it, swallowing reflections.
It was supposed to scare him.
It didn't.
He pressed his forehead against the cold metal rail as he chewed his cord hard, his mind flashing back to the room where his mother lay hooked to machines she'd never walk away from. He could still hear the doctor's voice from earlier, too gentle to be sincere:
"She won't last the week… I'm sorry, lad."
He didn't cry. He had run out of tears months ago, the night the wildfire swallowed their home so quickly, burning down memories and a lot of investments worth millions.
The same night he found his brother dying on the street with blood pooling under his head. The night everything changed.
And still, once he observed his brother, he saw multiple hits to the head, cracking open his skull at different angles. He was killed — it wasn't an accident like the cops said. They just painted it that way because they were poor. Only the rich had justice.
Money spoke louder… all the time.
Everyone kept telling him he was strong.
"The dead are gone, and the only thing we can do is move on," they said.
They weren't here now.
Sigh…
The wind carried the smell of rain and metal. Cael wrapped his fingers around the edge of the railing, his knuckles already white. The world below him was quiet and final, promising a kind of peace he hadn't felt in too long.
He wondered if falling felt like flying, even for a moment.
He closed his eyes, climbed the rail, about to jump—
When he heard the soft click of footsteps behind him.
They weren't hurried.
They weren't hesitant.
They were steady, as if the person walking already knew exactly how this night would end.
Cael opened his eyes and turned his head slightly.
A silhouette stood a few steps away, framed by the flickering streetlight — a tall figure dressed in black from collar to boots, with a very confident and strong presence.
"Don't," Cael muttered. "I'm not looking for help."
"I know," the man said, voice smooth and calm. "If you were, you wouldn't be here."
Cael's grip tightened. "Then leave."
The man didn't move. He lifted a hand — not fully, just enough for Cael to notice the strange glint on his fingers. Metal. Not polished, not rigid — the surface rippled faintly, like metal pretending to be skin.
He lit a cigar using a torch from his finger and blew with satisfaction.
Cael straightened, cold dread climbing up his spine. "What… are you?"
"A possibility," the man answered. "One you haven't considered yet."
Cael stepped back from the railing, anger replacing the numbness. "Whatever you're selling, I'm not buying."
"Pft — he thinks I'm a salesman." The man almost laughed. "I'm here because you're interesting."
"Interesting?" Cael spat. "I'm literally a mess right now and—"
"Exactly," he cut in.
The man's eyes gleamed in the dim light, something mechanical dancing deep within them.
"Pain sharpens the soul, Cael. Loss reshapes it. And yours… yours is exquisite."
Cael's breath hitched. "How do you know my name?"
"I know more than that, kid." The man moved closer, but not threateningly, blowing smoke into Cael's face, making him cough roughly.
He looked into his eyes like he was observing him.
"Your brother died bleeding on Easton Avenue. Your mother is fading in room 308. And your home… well, you know what became of that."
Fear prickled down Cael's arms. "Who sent you?"
"No one sends me, kid." The man tilted his head. "I choose. And trust me — you're privileged to have me here. I'm killing a huge part of my pride right now."
Silence pressed between them. The man raised his metallic hand to drag from his cigar again, and for a moment, Cael swore he saw gears shifting beneath the surface, sliding like tendons made of steel.
"I can help you," the man said softly. "I can give you the power to strike back. I can even make your mother walk again."
Cael laughed once — a broken, humorless sound. "That's impossible."
"Not for me."
"I don't believe you."
"You will."
The man reached into his coat. Cael braced, expecting a weapon, a threat, anything. But instead, something small and metallic glinted in the man's hand. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed it forward. Cael caught it reflexively.
A card.
Smooth. Heavy. On the front was a symbol he didn't recognize — a circle split by a jagged line.
On the back, a single word:
VENDETTA.
"What is this?" Cael whispered.
"A door," the man said. "And you're already halfway through it."
"I'm not calling you."
The man smiled — just barely — then turned to leave.
"You will… Everyone does."
He dropped the remnant of his cigar, stepped on it, and started walking away.
"Besides," he added over his shoulder, "there are way easier ways to kill yourself. Try it from a very high building. You don't feel the hit. It's peaceful."
Cael stared at the man for a while, then back at the card in his trembling hand, as the rain began to fall harder, interrupting the cold silence.
Should he throw it away, pretend like this never happened?
That was all on his mind at the moment — but… the man stated something that caught poor Cael's attention.
Vengeance.
What's the point of dying when you can have a chance to make them proud even in their graves?
Join them and end up dead as the useless sucker they expect you to be — or make a change. Make their deaths worth it.
Raising his head to go after the man, Cael saw nobody.
So he ran. He ran out to the expressway. Surprisingly, he had been there for over three hours, and it was way past midnight already, so it was a very lonely road. But the man had just left, making Cael wonder how he had gone so far beyond sight on foot.
"Shit…"
He muttered, letting out a deep breath and looking back at the card, falling into tears again.
Dying didn't make sense anymore. The man was right. Cael realized part of why he wanted to take his life was because he felt useless to do anything about it.
Now there was a chance to make up for everything.
He wanted more.
He wanted vengeance.