Anthony lay motionless on the ground.
Blood soaked into the earth beneath him.
Mask Man struggled nearby, clutching his wound, breathing heavy.
Emily sat a short distance away—calm, watching, a strange satisfaction resting on her face.
Too calm.
Anthony hadn't moved. Not a breath. Not a sound.
Emily stood abruptly and walked toward him, irritation crawling into her voice.
"No… no, no," she snapped, turning toward Mask Man.
"This bastard can't be dead already. Not like this."
She looked down at Anthony's still body, rage flashing in her eyes.
"He used my sister," she hissed."
"He doesn't deserve such an easy death."
Mask Man frowned beneath the mask.
For the first time—something felt wrong.
This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
Emily knelt beside Anthony and reached for his wrist to check his pulse.
And then—
Anthony's eyes snapped open.
In a blur of movement, his hand shot to his waistband.
Steel flashed.
A hidden knife drove straight into Emily's arm.
She screamed.
Before she could react, Anthony surged upward, locking his forearm around her throat.
He slammed her back, cutting off her air, then struck her face with a brutal punch.
Emily staggered.
Anthony ripped the knife free again, raised it high—
Ready to finish it.
But the blade froze midair.
A hand gripped his wrist.
Mask Man.
With a roar of fury, Mask Man yanked Anthony away and hurled him hard against the ground. Anthony crashed down, breath knocked from his lungs.
Silence fell again—thick, dangerous, trembling.
Mask Man stood over Anthony, chest heaving.
Emily gasped for air, clutching her bleeding arm, eyes burning with hatred.
And now, the real questions surfaced—
Who was Emily's sister?
And what had Anthony done to her… that made this so personal?