The Grim Sovereign

Chapter 15

The heavy gates of the Black Spire closed behind me with a deep metallic thud, like the building was sealing me out for good.

The guards’ eyes trailed me as I walked down the stone path, their stares heavy, suspicious.

I should have felt relief. I didn’t.

Mark’s face came to mind.

Mark—my brother-in-arms, my loyal friend.

The man who’d once carried me out of gunfire without a second thought… reduced now to a wheelchair.

The day I was arrested, his car “accidentally” collided with a truck on the highway.

Two crushed legs. Gone in a heartbeat.

No accident. I could smell Milton’s hand in it. A message. A warning.

I thought of visiting him, just to say *hello*, to let him know I hadn’t forgotten. But walking in empty-handed felt wrong. I needed to show up with something—something worth his time. Not just my hollow words.

I sighed and turned my steps toward Delacroix Company. Back to the janitor’s closet. Back to blending in. Maybe in a few days, I’d have something for Mark.

I’d barely taken a step when the air shifted.

*Whssh!*

That faint whistle—metal slicing through wind. Instinct screamed before my brain caught up.

I dropped my weight, twisting sideways.

A knife sang past my cheek, embedding deep into the fender of a parked car. The blade vibrated with the force, humming like it was alive.

I straightened, eyes narrowing at the source.

She stepped out from behind a pillar—the woman from earlier.

Jessica.

She wore that same faint smile, as if she’d just asked me to dance instead of throwing steel at my head.

I walked toward her slowly, pointing at the knife lodged in the car. “You want to explain why you decided to do this?”

Her smile tilted into something sharper. “You talk too much. Like a parrot. Why don’t you *show* me what you’ve got instead?”

Her hand slipped into her jacket—another flash of silver.

This time she lunged, no warning. The blade aimed straight for my ribs.

I caught her wrist mid-strike, twisting it just enough to redirect the blade past me. She flowed with the momentum, spinning low, trying to sweep my legs.

I jumped back, but she was already up, her second knife whistling toward my throat.

Too close. I tilted my head, felt the cold wind of steel kiss my ear. My elbow snapped forward, striking her arm just below the shoulder. She grunted, losing her angle, and I stepped in, closing the distance before she could recover.

A feint to the left—she fell for it. My other hand pinned her knife arm to the wall. A flick of my wrist, and one of her own blades was under her chin, the point grazing her skin.

Her breath hitched. The confidence in her eyes faltered, just for a second.

“Now,” I said quietly, my voice steady but edged with steel, “give me one reason I shouldn’t kill you.”

Instead of fear, she smiled—slow, deliberate.

“Was it Milton?” I pressed, eyes locked on hers. “Did he send you?”

“You’re strong,” she murmured instead, her voice like silk sliding over glass.

I stepped back, letting the blade drop from her throat.

She straightened her clothes, smoothing the creases with elegant precision. That same smug smile lingered as if I hadn’t just had her seconds from bleeding out.

“I just came to confirm something,” she said, tone almost playful. “And I’ve confirmed it. I can leave now.”

She turned halfway, glancing at me over her shoulder. “Jessica,” she said, her name dripping from her lips like a dare. “Don’t forget it.”

I watched her walk away without looking back, her heels clicking against the pavement until she melted into the street.

Then I turned and headed back toward Delacroix Company.

__________

The fluorescent lights in the hallway buzzed faintly as I walked back toward my dorm. I was halfway to my door when I heard a scream.

"AHHHHHHHH!"

It was so sharp and so close.

I froze mid-step; the voice went silent

Then again, "AHHHHHHHH:" This time louder, desperate, from the room adjacent to mine.

I turned just as the door burst open and a woman bolted out, wild-eyed, her hair disheveled, her voice slicing the hallway.

“Help! Please!”

Before I could even open my mouth, she slammed into me, pushing me back toward her room. Her fingers dug into my shoulder, sharp enough to make me wince as we stumbled inside.

“What’s going on?” I demanded, scanning the dim space for the threat.

She pointed, trembling. “O-over there… under the table.”

I followed her finger, every muscle coiled, expecting a knife, a gun, something.

Instead…

A mosquito.

Just one. Buzzing lazily, like it had no idea it was about to cause a full-blown panic attack.

The woman screamed again, clutching at my arm.

“…Right,” I muttered, rubbing my temple. “It’s fine. I’ll… take care of it.”

I spotted a stick propped beside the bed and picked it up, moving in slow, deliberate steps toward the insect.

That’s when it happened.

Something brown and fast darted out from under the bed—

THUMP!

A rat. Big enough to have its own mortgage.

The woman’s scream hit a new octave as she shoved me with surprising strength. We both went down hard, my back smacking the floor. My shirt tore at the shoulder seam, fabric ripping open and baring my chest.

Before I could process it, she was on top of me, her knees on either side, breathing fast and ragged, eyes locked on the corner like she expected the mosquito to come for round two.

“It’s fine,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm, my hands hovering awkwardly in the air because I had no idea where to put them. “It’s just a rat.”

I coughed, partly from the impact, partly to break the… situation.

She blinked down, realizing our position. Color rushed to her face as she scrambled off me. “Oh my god, I’m sorry! I—I’m just… scared of mosquitoes. And rats.”

“Normal,” I said with a small shrug, sitting up.

Her eyes lingered a second too long before she spoke. “You’re the new worker, right? The one in the opposite room?”

“That’s me.”

She smiled faintly. “Oh. You’re… really handsome.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Thanks… I guess.”

“If you ever have another rodent problem,” I said, standing and brushing off my pants, “I’ll help.”

She smiled wider. “Of course.”

I turned toward the door, but she called out quickly, “you can call me Mia! Don’t forget it.”

“No problem. Goodnight, Mia.”

She smiled, closing her door softly behind her.

I exhaled, finally turning toward my own room.

But the second I touched the knob—my stomach tightened.

The door was slightly ajar.

I never leave it unlocked.

The hall was empty, everywhere was quiet. I scanned the corridor, every sense sharpened, before pushing the door open.

I stepped in slowly.

That’s when something whistled through the darkness, it was so fast and vicious.

A rope, weighted at the end with a spinning blade, snapped toward my head.

My hand shot up, catching the rope inches from my face. The blade spun in my palm, the edge scraping my glove just enough to spark. I twisted, yanking hard. The attacker stumbled forward from the shadows—

And that’s when I saw them.

Four men in black masks, Combat boots. Knives, batons.

I let the rope drop to the floor, my stance lowering.

“Alright,” I said, voice low and steady. “Who sent you?”

My eyes locked on the four masked men, the rope-blade still hanging from my hand.

“Is this the government still trying to put me on the ground,” I asked, voice low, “or is this Malik Radwan’s idea of a warm welcome?”

They didn’t answer. Just glanced at each other—quick, silent.

I knew that look.

They weren’t here to talk.

“Fine,” I said, letting the rope drop. My stance lowered, my blood settling into that cold, steady rhythm I hadn’t felt in years. “If you’re not ready to talk… be ready to die.”

They moved first.

The first one lunged with a baton. I sidestepped, caught his wrist, and twisted until I felt the sharp crack of bone giving way. His scream cut short when my elbow smashed into his jaw, sending him into the wall.

The second came in high with a knife. I caught his arm mid-swing, drove my palm into his shoulder joint—once, twice—until it crunched like snapping wood. His blade clattered to the floor. I drove a fist into his chest so hard I felt ribs shatter under my knuckles. He crumpled, gasping, trying to breathe through a lung that no longer worked right.

The third didn’t hesitate, swinging low at my legs. I jumped, planting both feet into his chest midair. The impact sent him sprawling onto the table, which split clean in two. He didn’t get back up.

The last one thought he was smarter—keeping distance, circling. I advanced slowly, letting him think he had time. When he finally rushed me, I hooked his arm, yanked him forward, and slammed my knee into his face. The mask tore as his head snapped back, blood splattering on the floorboards.

Silence.

Just the sound of ragged breathing—none of it mine.

I grabbed the nearest one by the collar and hauled him upright. His legs dangled like dead weight.

“Who sent you?” I growled.

He stared at me through the eyeholes of his mask. No answer.

Then I heard a movement.

A sharp flick of his hand, and a cloud of fine powder burst into my face. I turned my head, but some of it still stung my eyes, burning hot. I shoved him away, blinking hard, my vision blurring.

By the time the haze cleared, they were gone—vanished through the open window, their boots pounding the alley as they scattered into the night.

I stood there, chest heaving, staring at the empty street beyond.

Then my phone rang.

I answered without looking at the screen. “Yeah?”

“Kael!” My wife’s voice was shaking, frantic. “Kael, you need to come—now—”

My grip tightened on the phone. “What’s happening?”

Her words tumbled over themselves. “The police station—the local station—you need to come here right now!”

“I’m on my way,” I said, already reaching for my coat.

The line went dead.

Not long I reached the police station. I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Aria was standing there in the reception area, her hands were trembling, her eyes darting like a cornered animal.

“Aria…” My voice was low, almost a whisper. “What happened to you? Why are you here—alone—at this hour?”

Her lips trembled before she broke. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and her voice cracked.

“It’s… it’s Liam.”

My stomach dropped.

I brushed past her and moved deeper into the station. That’s when I saw him—my boy—slumped over a table, his small hands and clothes stained with blood.

“Liam!” I rushed to him, scooping him into my arms. “What happened to you?”

A policeman stepped forward, his eyes wary. “Sir… are you the father of Liam?”

“Yes,” I said, holding my son tighter. “I’m his father.”

The officer gestured toward a corner where several other children sat, their parents hovering protectively over them.

“These kids reported… they saw your son butchering a dog in the neighborhood. They said he cut it open and removed the intestines.”

His words hit me like a blade to the chest. My grip on Liam tightened as I looked down at his peaceful, sleeping face.

“I… I’m sorry,” I managed, my voice hoarse. “Please… to the dog’s owners—whoever you are—” I looked toward the group of murmuring parents, “—I’m begging you. He’s just a child. I’ll make sure nothing like this happens again.”

But the parents’ stares were cold, their whispers sharp as knives.

“Murderer,” one muttered. “Just like his father… who slaughtered his own comrades.”

Another parent stepped forward, his voice filled with contempt. “You and your wife need to watch your son. He is never to play with our children again.”

Others echoed it, nodding and muttering as they gathered their kids. One by one, they left, their glares lingering on us until the door closed behind them.

I pulled Liam close to my chest, feeling his slow, even breathing against me.

The officer cleared his throat. “You’ll need to fill out some documents before you leave. We’re letting him go because he’s underage. But if we find him involved in something like this again…” He paused. “There will be punishment.”

I signed where they told me, my mind elsewhere, my hands mechanical. Then I nodded to the officers. “Thank you.”

We stepped back into the night. The streets were quiet, damp with the smell of rain. Liam’s head rested against my shoulder, his weight both comforting and heavy.

“When did he start behaving like this?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

Aria shook her head quickly. “He’s been fine. I don’t know when… I just noticed lately he’s been more… aggressive.” Her voice broke, and tears welled again.

I touched her arm. “Don’t cry. We’ll fix this. You’ll be fine.”

Her gaze flicked toward Liam. “Kael… what if our son is also a victim of the Red Serpent?”

I stopped walking and quickly pressed a hand over her mouth. “Don’t let people hear you say that.” I glanced around the empty street, lowering my voice. “Tomorrow, I’ll take him to get checked. We’ll see if he has… the psychopath gene in his brain.”

She pulled Liam away from my arms instantly, clutching him protectively. “No. I’ll never allow that. My son is fine. Normal. Nothing like that is happening to him.”

“Aria—please—” I stepped toward her. “If he had it, he could grow up to be another vicious being… like Malik Radwan.”

The slap came fast, the sound cracking in the still night. My cheek stung, but her words hurt worse.

“How dare you compare my son to a terrorist,” she spat. “Nothing is wrong with him. He will be fine. And you—” her voice shook, “—you have no right to act like a father to him now.”

She flagged down a passing cab, yanked the door open, and slid inside with Liam still sleeping in her arms.

Before I could say another word, the door slammed, and the cab drove away into the dark.