The tension in the warehouse was so thick it felt like we were breathing through a layer of dust. Keizer, pinned against the wall by Dylan's weapon, let out a jagged, frantic laugh.
"You think it's over? You think you've won because you bought a few guards? No. Just wait. Just wait for William. When he finds out what you've done to the distribution chain, he'll skin you alive. He doesn't care about your little student games."
Elara's expression didn't even twitch. She didn't look scared; she looked like she had just remembered she forgot to buy milk.
"Oh, right," she mused, her voice airy and detached. "I almost forgot about him. Let's meet him too. Go ahead, Keizer. Call him."
Keizer's smug grin faltered. His eyes darted around, looking for the catch. "What?"
"I said call him," she repeated, her tone sharpening just a fraction. "Do you have a phone? Or do I need to lend you one of mine?"
Trembling, Keizer fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a sleek, black smartphone. He dialed a number with shaking fingers, his eyes fixed on Elara as if she might pounce at any second.
We all stood there in a suffocating silence, the only sound being the faint ring... ring... from the speaker.
Nothing. No one picked up.
"What happened?" Elara tilted her head, a mockingly sympathetic look on her face.
"Didn't he pick up? That's too bad. He must be busy. It's alright, I'll call him. I don't mind."
She pulled her own phone from her pocket, but instead of dialing, she suddenly put it back.
"Actually, what's the need for a phone when I can call him without one?"
Okay, now she's definitely lost it. Is 'insanity' a side effect of being a secret drug-syndicate-destroyer?
Because breaking your phone isn't usually how you make a long-distance call.
She turned toward us—the bruised, confused, and terrified members of Section E.
"Please, give us some side," she said, waving her hand. "Just step back a little. I need the space."
She started summoning "william where are you?"
"Come here, your friend is calling you."
We scrambled backward, pressing ourselves against the rusted crates. Edrix hissed from behind me,
"Has she gone completely crazy? Who is she talking to?"
"Who knows," Rory whispered back, his eyes wide. "At this point, I wouldn't be surprised if she summoned a demon."
Keizer shouted, his voice cracking with desperation.
"What the hell are you doing?! Have you gone insane?! You think William is just going to appear because you shouted his name?"
"Don't shout at me," Elara said, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous hum. "Just trust me. He'll come. I just need to call him once more."
She took a deep breath, looked up at the darkened rafters of the warehouse, and shouted at the top of her lungs,
"WILLIAAAMMMMMM!"
For a second, nothing happened. Then—
THUD.
The sound wasn't a landing; it was a collision. A heavy, wet thud vibrated through the soles of my shoes, making my stomach lurch with a primitive kind of dread.
Several of the girls let out piercing screams that echoed off the corrugated metal walls, but I couldn't make a sound. I felt like I had glue in my throat—thick, sticky terror that kept my voice trapped in my chest.
It wasn't a person arriving to save the day. It was a person who would never speak again.
Lying in the center of the warehouse, under the flickering, sickly yellow light, was a dead body. It was covered in a gruesome mixture of fresh blood and gray concrete dust.
The expensive fabric of a designer suit was shredded, and the man's limbs were twisted at angles that made my own bones ache. It was William. The untouchable king of the drug mafia was now just a pile of discarded flesh.
Elara stepped toward the corpse, her expression as calm as a frozen lake. She looked up at Keizer, who was turning a ghostly shade of grey.
"You asked me if I am a hero or what,"
she said, her voice dropping into a low, haunting register.
"I am neither a hero nor a villain."
She paused, her eyes locking onto his with a chilling intensity.
"I am a.... devil."
Keizer began to tremble violently, his bravado shattering like glass. He looked from the body to Elara, his chest heaving.
"What... what did you do to him?" he shouted, his voice cracking with hysteria. "How? How could you bring him down?"
"Nothing special," Elara replied with a shrug that sent shivers down my spine.
"I just injected him with ten doses of the same drug you were feeding to little, poor kids across the world. I thought it was only fair he tasted his own 'empire' before he left."
The silence that followed was deafening.
she made him suffer the very poison he used to get rich. Every time I think I've seen the real Elara, she reveals a darker layer.
Keizer stumbled back, his legs finally giving out. He hit the concrete floor with a thud, his hands scraping against the grit.
"No... no..." he whimpered, shaking his head frantically as he stared at the ruin of his partner. "It can't happen... this wasn't the plan... it can't be..."
The atmosphere was thick with the copper scent of blood and the cold, clinical aura radiating from Elara.
Keifer's pov
A man in black stepped out of the shadows, handing her a small, metallic suitcase. She popped the latch and pulled out a syringe, the liquid inside shimmering like liquid silver under the warehouse lights.
She began to walk. Each step was slow, deliberate, and echoed against the silence of Keizer's whimpering. I stood there, watching my father crawl backward like a pathetic insect.
I searched my heart for a shred of sympathy—a spark of "sonly" duty—but I felt nothing. I was hollow. If she wanted to end him, I wasn't sure I had the will to stop her.
Then, the world turned blue and red.
The wail of sirens cut through the warehouse walls, followed by the deafening crash of the main doors being kicked off their hinges.
"POLICE! PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPONS! HANDS UP! NOW!"
The room was suddenly flooded with high-powered flashlights, blinding us. Dozens of officers swarmed the floor, their tactical gear clinking as they leveled rifles at everyone—including us.
"Who called the cops?" Edrix whispered urgently from behind me, his hands already hovering near his head. I just shrugged, my eyes still fixed on Elara. She hadn't moved. She stood there with the syringe in hand, looking at the police as if they were a minor inconvenience.
Suddenly, a voice rang out, high-pitched and desperate. "Officer! Over here! Thank God you're here!"
It was Clyde. I'd almost forgotten that rat was even in the building. He crawled out from behind a stack of rusted drums, his face smeared with grease and fake terror. He pointed a shaking finger at Elara.
"This girl! She's insane! She's trying to kill a reputable businessman!" he shrieked, clutching the arm of the lead sergeant. "She's a murderer! Look!"
The sergeant frowned, his grip tightening on his weapon. "You reported a murder on the phone, kid. Where is the body?"
Clyde spun around, pointing wildly at the center of the floor where William's mangled corpse had just been lying. "There! Right there! The man in the suit! He's covered in blood! She dropped him from the ceiling! It's a massacre!"
The officers moved forward, their flashlights sweeping the area Clyde was pointing at. I held my breath, waiting for the handcuffs to click on Elara's wrists.
"Son," the sergeant said, his voice dropping into a tone of confused annoyance. "I don't know what kind of drugs you're on, but I can't see any body."
Clyde froze. His jaw dropped so low I thought it might snap.
"What? Are you blind?! He's right at your feet! There's blood on your boots, for God's sake!"
The Sergeant looked down at his polished black boots, then back at Clyde. A slow, chilling smirk spread across his face—the kind of look a shark gives before it bites.
Clyde's head whipped around to look at Elara. She was still standing there, the syringe glinting in the light. As their eyes met, she didn't look away. Slowly, her lips curled into a matching, dark smirk.
My blood ran cold. It wasn't just Dylan. It wasn't just the guards. The entire precinct... the law itself... it belonged to her. We weren't being rescued. We were witnessing the absolute power of the girl we thought was just a quiet student from Section E.
"No..." Clyde whispered, stumbling back, his eyes darting between the smirk of the cop and the smirk of the 'devil.' "No, no, no... what is this?"