"The night remembers those who step too deep into its shadows. Some never return. Some return... different."
The rain hadn't let up all night. It came down in slow, steady sheets, turning the city into a blur of neon reflections and black pavement.
Victor Cross barely noticed. He sat in the back of his sleek, black sedan, watching the rain slide down the tinted windows. His fingers drummed against the leather seat, a hereditary habit, a quiet assertion of control, deliberate but slower than usual
The Cross family had spent years making themselves untouchable—money, power, the right people in their pocket. And yet, for the first time in a long time, someone in the Cross family felt something foreign creeping in.
An unsettling feeling in his gut
His brother was missing. Two nights. No word. No trace.
Victor had his men scour the city. Every resource at his disposal turned toward one objective. Nothing.
This wasn't something his men could fix.
He needed someone.
He took out his phone and made a call.
---
The Bar
The place was private—one of Victor's. A high-end bar that catered to people who didn't like being seen. Dark wood, low lights, an atmosphere thick with quiet conversations and expensive whiskey.
Victor's men were stationed near the exits—silent, watchful, a presence that didn't need to be announced.
Power in this city had rules—who bowed, who ruled, who was owed. Most men either played or...paid.
Then the door opened.
And the first thing Victor noticed was how no one noticed him.
Lucas Cain.
He didn't demand attention. He simply existed in a way that made the air shift around him. A dark suit, unremarkable at a glance, but tailored too well to be cheap. A presence too deliberate to be ignored for long.
Lucas didn't sit right away. He took his time lighting a cigar—pre-rolled, high quality, but without pretense. The scent of spice and smoke curled through the air as he exhaled slowly. Only then did he turn, meeting Victor's gaze with eyes that held no hurry.
Victor leaned forward slightly. "You don't take appointments."
Lucas took the seat across from him. His voice was low, edged with something dry and rough. "You called. I decided to come. Do I need to write you an appointment now?"
Victor studied him. "I've heard a lot about you."
Lucas exhaled smoke. And grunted "Hm."
The silence between them wasn't awkward. It was a test.
Victor was used to people filling silence with words, trying to establish control. Lucas wasn't people. He just waited.
The look on Victor's face tightened slightly before he exhaled. "Someone took my brother."
Lucas tapped ash from his cigar. Unimpressed. "Use your men. Why bother calling me?"
Victor didn't answer right away. He just lifted a hand. A quiet gesture.
One of his men stepped forward, placing a black folder on the table before retreating. No words. No wasted movements.
Lucas picked it up, flipping it open with one hand.
Documents. Reports. Timelines. And then—
A photograph.
Grainy. Low-light. The last place Caleb Cross had been seen.
Lucas let his thumb rest on the edge, eyes narrowing slightly. The details were murky, blurred by shadow and bad lighting, but something about it made him pause.
Caleb Cross.
Late twenties. Built like a man who never lost a fight. Wearing the kind of grin that said he didn't think he ever would.
Smoke curled from his cigar as he exhaled slow. His gaze stayed on the photograph, lingering just a little longer. Then, without looking up—
"Talk."
Victor's voice was steady, but his fingers tightened slightly on the glass in front of him. "Two nights ago, he went to meet someone. Same kind of meeting he always had. Except this time—" "No calls. No messages. No Caleb."
Lucas leaned back. "What did your men find at his place?"
Victor's jaw tightened slightly. "Not much. No struggle. No forced entry. His car was still there. Last known location—gone. Then nothing."
Lucas exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl toward the ceiling. He'd heard this kind of thing before. He just hadn't expected it to be this close.
Victor's voice lowered. "I don't believe in ghost stories. But I know when something isn't right." His gaze locked onto Lucas. "And neither are you."
Lucas studied him for a moment. Then he flicked the photo back onto the table.
"No."
A beat of silence.
Then—
He set the cigar down, gaze unwavering. "Make it worth my while."
A pause. Smoke curled from his cigar, slow and deliberate. His gaze lingered on the photograph—longer than before.
Then, almost too quiet—
"This wasn't a someone."
Victor tensed.
Lucas exhaled, flicking ash onto the tray. His voice stayed calm, but something in it turned final.
"Something took your brother."
And with that, he pushed the photo back across the table
THE END OF CHAPTER 1