********Harper
The air was still, heavy, the way it gets before a storm.
The mayor—my so-called real father—stood there under the faded gray light like a man caught between two worlds, his face pale, his eyes darting as if searching for something to anchor himself to.
I tightened my grip on the blade. "How did you get here? Why are you in the game? Have you come to sell me again?!" My voice was sharp, cutting through the tension like a shard of glass.
He frowned, confusion knitting his brows. "What kind of question is that? Is this one of your tricks? Trying to confuse me?"
I felt my pulse spike. "Tricks?!" My voice rose. "Why the hell were you wearing a mask? Was it because you didn't want me to see your face? Or because you didn't want me to remember that you made my life hell after you almost sold me?"
His face didn't twist in guilt. No recognition flashed in his eyes. Just… confusion. And that made my stomach churn.
He lifted his hands slightly, not in surrender but in exasperation. "I… I don't know what you're talking about. Yes, I've done bad things—plenty of them—but I've never needed to hide behind some mask for that. I don't regret any of it. And I have no idea what you're saying right now."
My grip faltered for half a second. What? "Do you recognize me?" I demanded, narrowing my eyes.
His gaze was steady. "Of course I do. You're Harper."
No flicker of recognition about what kind of Harper. No hint that he understood the weight of those words. I swallowed hard, frustration bubbling up like acid in my throat. He wasn't even trying to make an excuse. He was just… detached.
My mind screamed at me to end this, to make him pay—father or not—but my chest tightened in an unfamiliar way. I forced the blade closer to his heart, just a breath away from piercing through flesh.
And then—
"Stop!" he blurted out, his voice raw. "Stop! There's something you don't know. A truth you need to hear."
I froze mid-breath. The air between us thickened. "What other truth could there possibly be?" I bit out, my jaw aching from how tightly I was clenching it. "Except that you killed the man who raised me? The man I called father?"
The mayor sighed, the sound oddly tired—as if the weight of the years had finally decided to crush him all at once.
"In the video you have," he began, his voice low but steady, "you saw me get close to him—close to your father. But…" He met my eyes without flinching. "I wasn't the one who killed him."
The words hit me like a slap. I felt my chest hollow out.
"You're lying."
"I swear on Elora." His tone was firm, almost… desperate. "It was someone else. Someone you don't know."
My nails dug into the hilt of my blade. "Then tell me. Who?"
But instead of answering, something shifted in his expression. His eyes widened—not in guilt, not in fear—but in shock. His mouth parted like he was about to speak, and then… nothing.
"What?!" I shouted. "Say it!"
He didn't.
Instead, he staggered—one step, two—and then crumpled. I barely registered what was happening until I saw it: a dark, spreading stain on his stomach, the glint of fresh blood soaking into his clothes.
"Mayor!" I dropped to my knees beside him.
His breathing was ragged, shallow. He struggled to lift his head and look at me. "Harper…"
"Who did this?!" My voice cracked.
He gave a faint, pained smile. "Take care of my daughter. Elora… tell her I'm sorry. Sorry for not giving her the life she deserved." His breath hitched. "I know you won't hurt the innocent… no matter how much you hate me."
"No, no, no, you can't—"
But before I could finish, his body went still, his last exhale trailing into the air like smoke dissipating into nothing.
My chest squeezed so hard it felt like my ribs might snap. My throat burned. He was gone. And with him, so was the truth I'd been clawing for.
"No!" The word tore out of me, raw and guttural. I screamed again, the sound ringing in my own ears, not caring who heard. My hands trembled as I clutched his shirt, shaking him, as if I could pull him back to life through sheer will. "You didn't tell me! You didn't tell me who killed him!"
The edges of my vision blurred. Rage, frustration, grief—they tangled into a knot inside me that I couldn't untangle.
I felt a hand on my shoulder—Luna's hand. She crouched beside me, her voice low and calm, trying to anchor me back to reality. "Harper. Stop. You need to breathe."
I yanked my shoulder away. "Don't—" But the look in her eyes made me falter. It wasn't pity. It was steady, unshakable control.
I forced myself to breathe, each inhale tasting like rust. The mayor's body lay between us, his face pale but strangely… peaceful.
I hated him. I hated what he'd done to me. But a small, treacherous part of me hated that he'd died without giving me the one thing I needed most: the name.
*******
At Natalie's house, the quiet was broken by a sudden, sharp intake of breath.
Vaelthor stopped mid-step, a hand pressing hard against his chest. His face twisted, not in rage, but in something far more alien—pain. Real pain.
Natalie, lounging in the chair across the room, sat up straight. "What's wrong with you?"
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he tilted his head back slightly, and to Natalie's shock, a thin trail of moisture slipped from the corner of his eye. A tear.
"You're crying?" she said, disbelief lacing her tone.
Vaelthor's gaze met hers, sharp and unflinching. "No. Not me. My other half." His voice was low, almost dangerous. "And if she's crying… then something has happened."
Natalie frowned. "Other half? You mean—"
"Yes." He cut her off, his tone snapping like a whip. "Harper. She's losing control. Which means I have to act—now."
"What are you—" she started, but he was already moving toward the door.
"I don't have time to explain." His voice was final, leaving no room for questions. "If I don't put my plan into motion before she reaches the point of no return… she'll be beyond saving."
And with that, he was gone—slipping out of the house in a blur of motion, the air in his wake humming with residual power.
Natalie gritted her teeth. 'why is it always Harper! Now she has the two brothers wrapped around her fingers '.
----
The canopy swayed gently overhead, letting dappled sunlight spill across the ground. But the air was tense, coiled tight with the promise of violence.
Vaelthor stood at the edge of the clearing, watching a lone figure—
A woman, holding a gun steady in both hands, her aim locked on some unseen target just beyond the treeline.
She seemed really angry and whispered to herself. 'Even in death, you'll rather take her name than mine, father'.
He smiled, slow and sharp. "Perfect," he breathed. "Absolutely perfect for my plan."
And then his body dissolved—no, transformed—into a swirling mass of dark energy, a living shadow that moved like smoke and lightning all at once. The tendrils of darkness snaked forward, slipping through the air until they wrapped around her form, then seeped inside like water soaking into dry earth.
Her fingers tightened on the gun's grip. Her breath hitched once.
And then she stilled, her eyes going dark.
†††††Some games aren't meant to be won...only survived.
~Vicky247lovely.