He who brings hell

Prime minister

Kael Maddox – POV

I stood over the dead man, his blood still fresh on the pavement, cooling beneath the open sky. The last echo of gunfire was long gone, drowned out by the whispers starting to stir in the nearby buildings.

But I didn’t say a word.

I turned to Darren. “Let’s go. We head to the place we were going before.”

He blinked, staring at me like I’d just suggested we take a walk in the park.

“Just like that?” he asked, incredulous. “We’re just going to leave? Two bodies here, Kael. Two dead men. And one of them just tried to kill you.”

I didn’t answer.

I was already walking away, boots heavy on the cracked road, thoughts louder than his voice.

Behind me, I heard Darren sigh sharply and fumble for his phone. “Yeah… police? Two men are down, alley off of Drexler Street. Send someone fast.”

I didn’t care to wait.

As I walked toward the car, my mind raced, unraveling a hundred questions with zero answers.

Who wanted me dead?

Was it the government?

Was it the old chains of the agency—those ghosts who still saw me as an asset or a threat?

Or was it the terrorists?

People I’d buried, missions I’d ended. Shadows I thought I’d outrun.

The pieces didn’t align yet. There was no clear motive, no calling card. Just bullets.

I climbed back into the car, and sure enough—eyes were watching. From windows. From street corners. A dozen civilians whispering, staring. Phones recording.

Let them.

The door slammed shut behind me.

A few seconds later, Darren yanked the passenger side door open and dropped in beside me, still breathing heavy. He turned to face me fully, his tone sharp and unrelenting.

“You need to tell me,” he said. “Back there—you said something. You said they were targeting us. Who the hell were you talking about, Kael?”

I didn’t look at him right away. I stared through the windshield, jaw tight.

“It could be them,” I finally said. “The ones behind the government. The same people who want me dead.”

Darren frowned. “The ones behind—what does that even mean? You’re talking about the ones that sent you to prison?”

I nodded once, voice low. “They covered their tracks. Buried my past. Labeled me a traitor. They wanted me erased… and maybe they still do.”

Darren leaned back, running a hand through his hair. “You mean the Prime Minister?”

“Maybe.” I exhaled through my nose. “Or someone even higher. Someone pulling strings behind closed doors.”

“Why?” he asked, almost desperate now. “Why the hell would they want you dead now, after all this time?”

I looked at him, quiet for a moment.

“I don’t know,” I said truthfully. “And that’s what scares me.”

Darren muttered a curse and turned the key in the ignition.

The engine roared to life, and the car rolled forward, pulling us away from the blood, the body, and the questions that wouldn’t stop hunting me.