The city blurred around them, its familiar chaos a distant hum, muffled by the weight of everything that had just happened. Jen's voice, calling his name, had shattered the wall Eli had built around himself bricks laid one by one over years of loneliness and violence. Neither of them had said much since, just an awkward glance, a nod, and somehow, they found themselves seated in a quiet coffee shop that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.
The place was small and cozy, the kind of place people came to get lost in the hum of conversation and clink of spoons against mugs. The aroma of freshly ground coffee beans and cinnamon filled the air. Rain tapped rhythmically against the glass, like a metronome marking time, as Eli and Jen sat across from each other, a small table separating them.
Eli kept his hood down, though the messy hair and the shadows under his eyes gave away just how little sleep he'd gotten. His shoulders, which had been tense as a coiled spring for years, had relaxed ever so slightly. It was almost imperceptible, but Jen noticed it.
Jen stirred her coffee absently, staring into it as though it held the answers to questions she hadn't even asked yet. "So… you live in Brooklyn now?" she asked, breaking the silence that had settled between them.
"Yeah," Eli said, his voice low, but clearer than she remembered. "Not far from here. Small place. Quiet."
Jen looked at him, her brow furrowed in curiosity. "Alone?"
He hesitated, then nodded, his eyes distant. "Always."
Another silence settled between them, but this one wasn't uncomfortable. It was just two people, trying to piece together a version of themselves they had long buried beneath everything they'd become.
Finally, Eli spoke again, his tone quieter. "I'm in online school. GED stuff. Almost done. Figured… might as well finish what I started."
Jen raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a smile. "That's awesome, Eli," she said, impressed despite herself.
Eli shrugged, his expression softening with a touch of pride. "Not like I had anything else going."
Jen's eyes softened as she leaned forward. "I'm about to graduate high school. Full ride to Columbia. Pre-law."
Eli blinked, caught off guard. "Seriously?"
Jen smiled, a playful glint in her eyes. "Yup. I'm gonna be a lawyer," she said, her tone mock-serious. "One of the good ones."
Eli snorted, a laugh bubbling out of him. "That tracks. You were always the one yelling at teachers when things weren't fair."
Jen smirked, taking a sip of her drink. "Yeah, and you were the one getting suspended for fighting bullies."
Eli chuckled, a genuine sound this time. "I didn't start those fights."
"Sure you didn't," Jen teased. "But you sure didn't finish them either."
Eli let out a short laugh and it was rare, and almost foreign on his lips. Then another. And for the first time in years, his face broke into a genuine smile.
It wasn't sharp. It wasn't cold. It was a glimpse of the kid he used to be, the one before the scars, before the streets had worn him down. It was a fleeting, delicate moment, and he realized it was the first time he had smiled like that in a long time.
Jen leaned in slightly, a wistful look in her eyes. "You haven't smiled like that since…"
Eli finished the thought quietly, his gaze drifting as he looked out the window. "Since I was thirteen."
Jen didn't press. Instead, she leaned back, letting the moment stretch between them. They fell into a rhythm then, sharing stories from the past, the ones that used to define them before everything fell apart. The time they sneaked into the movie theater and got caught by security. That night they tried to build a treehouse on a rooftop, only for Jen's uncle to catch them and make them wash his car in freezing cold water as punishment.
Each memory peeled back a layer of the fortress Eli had built around himself.
Eventually, Jen reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, sliding it across the table. "Give me your number. I'm not letting you disappear again."
Eli hesitated for a moment before picking up the phone. He tapped in his number quickly, his fingers moving like they hadn't missed a beat. "Same for you," he muttered as he slid her phone back to her.
They exchanged phones, their fingers brushing for a split second. A fleeting moment that felt like an unspoken promise.
Jen stood, grabbing her coat. "I should get going. Got college essays and my aunt breathing down my neck."
Eli nodded, the edges of his lips lifting into a small smile. "Don't be a stranger, Jen."
She smiled back at him, the same warmth in her eyes. "Not a chance."
And just like that, she was gone swallowed by the noise and shadows of the city, leaving Eli behind with nothing but the quiet murmur of the world around him.
Eli sat for a while longer, his mug resting between his hands, staring out the window. The rain had started to let up, the world outside still, almost peaceful. For the first time in a long time, the weight on his chest seemed lighter.
The city stretched out below him in all its fractured beauty. From his penthouse, Mayor Michael Carver had the perfect view of the chaos he had orchestrated over the years. A city of glass and steel, shimmering under the moonlight, its bright lights a reminder of the empire he controlled. He leaned against the window, savoring the illusion of power, the perfect distraction. Tonight, he was untouchable.
Or so he thought.
Then, a sudden unease crept up his spine. It was a sensation he knew all too well instinct, honed over years of dealing with threats. His fingers tapped rhythmically on the glass, the only sound in the otherwise silent room. Something was wrong.
His pulse quickened, and his eyes narrowed. "Who's there?" he growled, his voice low and threatening. He didn't expect an answer, but the air around him seemed to hum with the promise of danger.
The silence remained, broken only by the distant honk of a car. Carver straightened, his hand instinctively reaching for the desk really anything to steady himself.
Then it came.
The faintest whiz. The sound of an arrow cutting through the air, too precise to be anything but deliberate.
Pain exploded in his chest.
He didn't even have time to process the blow. The arrow drove deep, the force throwing him back, his breath leaving him in a gasp. His vision flickered as he crumpled to the floor, a sharp, burning pain spreading through his body.
"Who…" He choked on the words, his voice barely a rasp.
From the shadows, a figure emerged, tall, deliberate. Killshot.
Carver's vision wavered. He tried to make sense of it, but everything was blurring, fading. The pain was overwhelming, suffocating. He could barely focus on the dark silhouette before him, the calm, precise figure that had just sealed his fate.
"Your kingdom… is over," Killshot murmured, his voice cold and final. The words barely registered before they were drowned out by the slow, steady beat of death closing in.
Carver's last breath was a ragged, desperate exhale, and then nothing.
Killshot was gone as quickly as he had come, vanishing into the night without a trace, leaving only the silence in his wake.
Eli walked back to his apartment, his footsteps soft against the cold floor. The door creaked slightly as he opened it, stepping into the familiar, cluttered space. The stillness felt heavier tonight, as though the weight of the world had settled on his shoulders. He tossed his jacket onto the couch, mind still racing from the chaos of the evening.
The hum of the city outside was muffled by the thick walls, but it was always there. Always waiting. Just like him.
He grabbed the remote and flicked the TV on, the static flickering before the news anchor's voice filled the room.
"Good evening, I'm Mary Jane Parker, and we have breaking news tonight that has shaken the city to its core."
Eli froze. The flicker of static had turned into something else, something that gripped him. The face on the screen was the last thing he expected to see.
"Mayor Michael Carver, known for his controversial leadership and rumored connections to several criminal organizations, has been found dead in his office this evening. Authorities are still investigating the circumstances surrounding his death, but early reports indicate that the killing was carried out with precise and brutal force. There are no known suspects at this time."
Eli's hand tightened around the remote, his mind piecing things together even before he saw the telltale sign. On the wall behind the news anchor, written in bold red letters, was a message:
"You never forget your first shot."
Eli's breath caught in his throat. Those words. The unmistakable signature.
"Clint…" he whispered.
His eyes narrowed, the weight of the realization settling over him like a storm. The past was here. And it was coming for him.