Ethan stepped back into the apartment, rain held onto his jacket. Filtering through the blinds was the city glow, making trails of it on the floor. There sat Natalie on the couch, coffee in one hand and the other close to a gun.
"You did not kill him," she said, as calm as there were curiosity tones in her voice.
Ethan dropped his bag and sat right across her. "He's Alive. Barely."
"That's good," she said. "We might need him later."
Ethan reclined. "He knows I'm back. Damian, too. The city will start to talk come morning."
Natalie's eyes narrowed. "Then the war starts sooner than we expected."
He nodded. "I'm finished hiding."
For one moment, silence occupied the room. Then Natalie smiled slightly. "Vale would have loved you like this."
"Vale is dead," Ethan said, standing. "And I'm not him."
"No," she said. "You might be worse."
By daybreak, Eastbridge was already buzzing with impatience. The reporter on the morning news was one shrouded in fervent excitement. "Late last night, there was an assault on a warehouse belonging to Locke Group. One man hurt, various containers destroyed. Police are investigating to determine possible gang involvement."
Natalie turned off the TV. "Well, congratulations," she said dryly. "You made the front page before breakfast."
He half-smiled. "They wanted my name back in the papers. Now they have it."
She sighed. "You're enjoying this way too much."
"I just got started," he said.
That afternoon, Ethan opened the folder Natalie had left lying on the table. Inside were photos of men: lieutenants of the Locke Group, politicians, and business partners. Each face represented corruption, greed, betrayal.
He stopped at one photo - Andrew Keller, chief of police. The caption read: Locke Family Ally.
"Paid-to-cover Claire's brother assault case."
His stomach twisted. That was the case that ruined his life-the crime Claire had begged him to take the blame for.
Old rage bubbled up again-slow and heavy. "He's still walking scot-free," muttered Ethan.
Natalie looked up. "You can't down all of them at once." "I'm not trying to," he said. "Just one at a time."
That night, Ethan was sitting alone on the balcony, drifting cigarette smoke into the cold air. He had never taken up smoking before going to prison. This had become the only thing that could slow his thoughts.
He thought of Claire-from her laugh to the lies she told him to the promise to wait; three years, he had believed she would keep it. His last memories of her included her saying, "I will fix this, Ethan. I swear," just before he was taken away.
But she hadn't fixed anything. She had erased him.
Behind him, Natalie stepped out, bundling up her jacket tight against her. "You're thinking of her again," she said quietly.
He didn't deny it. "She used me. I went to prison for her brother, and she married the man who destroyed everything I had."
Natalie leaned beside him from the railing. "And now?"
"Now I take it back," he said simply. Everything."
She looked at him. Something unreadable was there in her expression. "Be careful, Ethan. Revenge can change people."
He met her gaze. "Good. I'm done being the same person."
The next day, Natalie brought him a sealed envelope. "A message came for you."
He frowned. "For me? Who even knows I'm here?"
"No name. Just this."
Inside was a single note, typed in black ink:
"You can't kill a ghost, Ethan. Some fires never die."
There was no signature, only a small mark — the emblem of a phoenix engulfed in flame.
Ethan's eyes darkened. "Vale's mark," he whispered.
Natalie shook her head. "Impossible. Vale's dead."
"Then someone's using his symbol," Ethan said. "Or someone wants me to think he isn't."
She looked more apprehensive. "Either way, this changes things. If Vale did have other followers, there would be some he didn't bring into being with your interests in mind."
Ethan folded the note. "Then I'll find out who is playing games with me."
That night, Eastbridge's elite filed into the annual charity gala held by the Locke Group-the same one Ethan had seen splattered all over the news before. The ballroom glistened with gold and glass, and there Claire stood beside Damian, her diamond earrings catching the lights.
From the shadows of the parking garage across the street, Ethan watched. His black jacket blended into the night as he scanned the scene through binoculars.
Something came to him from Natalie through his earphone. "You sure this is smart? Walking into a lion's den without claws?" "Sometimes," Ethan said, "you learn more by walking among the lions than fighting them."
He handed his fake, clean, and perfect invitation to the doorman. In seconds, he was inside.
Music played softly. Laughter echoed. The place smelled of perfume and lies.
Claire laughed with Damian, but her eyes were restless. Turning her face slightly, her gaze brushed across the crowd and froze.
Ethan, standing and calm, expression unreadable across the entrance.
Her hand trembled slightly. Damian noticed. "Something wrong?" She forced a smile. "No, nothing."
But inside, her heart was pounding. She saw him. She knew.
Ethan moved through the crowd like a ghost, hunkered down and easily blended. People whispered, trying to remember his face. Some did-the disgraced fiancé, the man who disappeared.
He stopped before the bar, watching Claire and Damian from afar. For a second, a little flick of memory flashed by-his life of wedding plans, laughter, and probably lies.
Then his phone buzzed. A message from Natalie:
"Police is coming. Damian tipped them off. Get out now."
Ethan's eyes flicked toward the exits-blocked already. Men in black suits spread in the room, scanning faces.
He cursed under his breath. There was only one way out-the service hallway.
As he turned, Claire's voice stopped him. "Ethan?"
He froze. Slowly, he turned back to see her face pale, eyes wide with shock.
"Claire," he said quietly.
"You're alive," she whispered. "You shouldn't be here."
He stepped forward, voice calm but cutting. "You're right. But neither should you-not after what you did."
Before she could answer, one of Damian's guards shouted, "He's here!"
The music stopped. People gasped. Ethan turned and ran toward the service door as chaos erupted.
Claire shouted his name, but he didn't look back.
Bullets shattered wine glasses as he dove behind a catering cart. The door burst open, and Natalie rushed in with a gun. "This way!"
They rushed through the narrow hallways, alarms blaring behind them.
Ethan glanced back once, just in time to see Damian stepping out of the ballroom, eyes full of rage.
"Run all you want," Damian called out. "You can't escape me again."
Ethan smirked. "We'll see about that."
They burst through the exit into the night, disappearing into the rain-soaked streets as police sirens wailed.
From the balcony of the ballroom, Claire watched them vanish. Her hands shook as she gripped the railing. For the first time in years, she wasn't sure which side she was on.
Far across the city, in a dimly lit office, a man sat watching a screen. His voice was calm, and his smile was sharp.
"Welcome back, Ethan Ward," he said. "The game just got interesting."