I Don't Want To Be A Hero

Chapter 18 The Restaurant

Siren stood on the edge of the rooftop, the wind tugging at her hair as the city sprawled beneath her in a restless glow. Welson never truly slept—sirens in the distance, the hum of traffic, the flicker of neon signs—but tonight it felt heavier, as if the whole city was holding its breath with her.

It had been a week since Ben, Theo, and Lizzy helped her take down Fearme. A week since she'd felt the adrenaline of that fight still burning in her muscles. And a week since Leeann had confirmed the truth she'd been dreading: Richard Knight was indeed her father.

The knowledge sat in her chest like a stone.

"I see the rumors are true," a male voice said behind her, smooth and unhurried, like he'd been waiting for the perfect moment to speak.

She didn't flinch. She'd prepared for this—researched him, memorized every scrap of information she could find. His background was too clean, too perfectly curated. No one was that spotless unless they were hiding something. And Sebastian had never lied to her.

"It's not a surprise that my daughter is a vigilante," he added, as if commenting on the weather.

"What do you want?" Davina asked, her voice steady, her gaze still fixed on the city. "After twenty-two years, what do you gain from seeking me out?" Only then did she turn to face him.

He stood a few feet away, dressed entirely in black—combat boots, tactical pants, a fitted shirt that hinted at a lifetime of training. Two guns rested holstered at his sides, but it was his eyes that caught her attention. Green. Sharp. Almost glowing in the dark like a predator's.

"You're my blood. Isn't that enough?" he asked.

"No." Her answer was immediate, unshaken.

He stepped closer, the faintest crunch of gravel under his boots. "Davina Wayne. Twenty-two years old. Born April 30th, 20XX. Daughter of Nicole Wayne. Witnessed the deaths of Nicole Wayne and Steven Ren at sixteen. The only survivor of what Welson citizens call The Incident. Current CEO of RenTech."

She didn't react, though her jaw tightened.

"So you researched me. So what."

"I want to know how you became the person you are today," he said. "I want to know how you forged yourself."

"I did not forge myself with fire," she replied, her voice low, "but with desire. A desire to never let what happened to me happen to anyone else."

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—approval, curiosity, something unreadable.

"If you want the full story," she said, "I'll tell you. But I suggest you sit down."

He didn't sit, but he stayed silent. Listening.

Six Years Earlier...

"Davina, if you don't hurry, we're going to be late!" Nicole called from the foyer, slipping on her coat. Her long black hair shimmered under the chandelier light, hazel eyes bright with excitement.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Davina shouted back, nearly tripping as she bounded down the stairs. She was sixteen—full of energy, full of life, full of the belief that the world was still safe.

"Quickly, put on your coat," Nicole said, grabbing her purse.

"Stevan, you're coming, aren't you?" she added, raising her voice toward his office.

"Yes, yes, I'm right here," Stevan said as he stepped out, adjusting his tie. His brown hair was slightly tousled, his warm brown eyes crinkling with a smile.

"Are we all ready to go?" he asked.

"Ready as we'll ever be," Davina said, grinning as she shrugged into her coat.

It wasn't just another day.

It was her sixteenth birthday.

And tonight was supposed to be perfect.

They stepped outside into the cool evening air, the Ren estate glowing behind them. The limo waited at the bottom of the steps, polished to a mirror shine. Sebastian stood by the driver's door, immaculate as always.

"I have a surprise for you, Vina," Stevan said once they were inside. "You'll find out after dinner."

"Why not just give it to me now?" Davina teased.

"That would ruin the surprise."

"Didn't you already ruin it by telling her there is a surprise?" Nicole asked with a laugh.

"What can I say? I'm excited," he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

Sebastian pulled up to the restaurant and stepped out, opening the back door with a small bow. "We have arrived."

"Thank you for the ride, Sebastian," Davina said, smiling brightly.

"It was my pleasure, young miss."

Stevan leaned in close to him. "I know you have plans of your own. I'll call you when we're done."

"Thank you, Master Stevan," Sebastian replied before closing the door.

Inside, the restaurant was warm and elegant—soft lighting, the clink of glasses, the low hum of conversation. The hostess greeted them immediately and led them to a table near the window.

They settled in, talking, laughing, sharing appetizers while waiting for their meals. Davina felt weightless, wrapped in the comfort of her family, unaware that this night—this perfect, ordinary night—would be the last time she ever felt truly safe.

The restaurant was warm, golden, alive with soft music and clinking glasses. Davina was laughing at something Stevan said when the front doors slammed open so hard the sound cracked through the room like a whip.

A man stepped inside.

Tall. Pale. Smiling far too wide.

Lucifer.

But not the scarred, unhinged monster Davina would one day face again. This version was younger, cleaner, but the madness was already there—coiled behind his eyes like a snake waiting to strike.

He raised a gun above his head and waved it casually, almost playfully.

"Who wants to play a game?" he called out, voice bright and cheerful in a way that made the room go still. "Kill or be killed!"

A few people laughed nervously, thinking it was some kind of twisted prank. A performance. A joke.

Lucifer's smile sharpened.

Then he fired.

The gunshot cracked through the restaurant, and a waiter collapsed with a cry, clutching his leg. Panic erupted—screams, chairs scraping, people ducking under tables.

"That," Lucifer said, lowering the gun, "was only a warning."

He snapped his fingers.

The kitchen doors burst open as terrified staff stumbled out, their hands shaking as they carried trays piled with kitchen knives—paring knives, butcher knives, anything they could grab. Their faces were pale, eyes wide with fear.

"Set them down," Lucifer ordered, still smiling. "Nice and neat. Our players need their tools."

The knives clattered onto the nearest tables.

Before anyone could run, three men in dark clothing stormed in from the back exit, then two more from the side. They moved with military precision, blocking every doorway, every window, every possible escape route. Their expressions were blank, obedient.

Lucifer spread his arms theatrically.

"Now then," he said, pacing slowly between the tables like a host welcoming guests to a party. "You may form groups. Friends, family, strangers—doesn't matter to me."

He tapped the barrel of his gun against his palm, humming softly.

"Whichever group survives… gets to live."

Nicole instinctively pulled Davina close, shielding her with her body. Stevan reached for her hand under the table, squeezing it tightly, his face pale but determined.

Around them, chaos churned—people whispering frantically, some crying, some frozen in shock. The knives gleamed under the chandelier light, cold and wrong in such a beautiful place.

Lucifer's eyes swept the room, landing briefly on Davina.

She didn't know it yet, but this was the moment her life split in two—the before and the after.

TO BE CONTINUED