35. Lucas
35
LUCAS
I ’m outside two seconds before I hear footsteps approaching, steady and familiar, and I don’t need to look up to know it’s Jake. As he comes closer, the soft glow of the streetlight catches the silver in his hair, adding to the air of quiet authority he carries with him. “How did it go?” he asks.
“Peter wasn’t there.”
His eyes flick to my hand, where I’m still flexing the knuckles, stained with drying blood. “Who was?”
I glance at him, my expression unreadable. “I just killed four men. Thought you said Peter was honorable.”
“Men change, I guess.” He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even bat an eye. He’s seen this side of me too many times to be shocked anymore. Instead, he nods slowly, his gaze drifting to the dilapidated museum behind us. “Albrecht’s getting desperate.”
I let out a bitter chuckle, the sound harsh in the stillness of the night. “Desperate enough to think he could corner me. Trap me like some common prey.”
“But he didn’t,” Jake says, his tone matter-of-fact. “You’re here, they’re not.”
“Because I made sure of it,” I snap, the anger I’ve been holding back boiling to the surface. I take a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down, to think clearly. “This has to end, Jake. We take him on fully—start a war. We don’t stop until his entire empire is burned to the ground.”
Jake watches me carefully, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You sure about that? Once we start, there’s no going back.”
“I’m sure,” I say, my voice cold, resolute. “He killed my parents, Jake. He must die. Enough of this bullshit.”
There’s a long silence between us, the weight of my words hanging in the air. Jake doesn’t argue, doesn’t try to talk me out of it. He knows better than anyone that this isn’t just about revenge—it’s about justice. About finally ending the cycle of violence that Albrecht has perpetuated for too long.
He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a small object, glinting faintly in the dim light. “Before you go home,” he says, holding it out to me, “I thought you might want this. Brought it to me just now.”
I take it from him, my heart skipping a beat when I realize what it is. Emily’s mother’s necklace, the one that was stolen. The one thing that meant more to her than anything else. The cool metal feels heavy in my palm, a reminder of what I’m fighting for—what I’m protecting.
“We got it back from the thief,” Jake explains, his tone steady. “He won’t be a problem anymore.”
I nod, slipping the necklace into my pocket, feeling its weight against my chest. “I need to get home. Emily deserves this back.”
“Take care of her,” Jake says, his voice carrying a note of something deeper, something almost fatherly. “She’s the one good thing in all of this.”
“I know,” I reply, my voice rough with emotion. “And I’m not going to let anything happen to her. Not ever.”
“One more thing for you,” he says, passing me a parcel.
“What’s this?” I ask, taking the bundle from him, feeling the lightness of it, the way it fits perfectly in the palm of my hand.
“Something my wife made,” he says quietly, his eyes meeting mine. “For the baby.”
I unwrap the paper carefully, revealing a set of tiny, hand-knitted booties and a small, soft blanket. The sight of them—so delicate, so fragile—hits me harder than I expected. For a moment, the cold, hard edge of the night melts away, replaced by something warmer, something softer.
“She wanted you to have them,” Jake continues, his voice almost reverent.
I stare at the tiny items in my hands, the reality of what’s coming crashing down on me all over again. It’s easy to get lost in the bloodshed, the power plays, the endless cycle of violence that defines my life. But this—this is different. This is real. This is a future I never thought I’d have, a future I’m terrified of losing.
“Thank her for me,” I say, my voice rough, the words catching in my throat. I look up at Jake, and there’s an understanding in his eyes, a shared knowledge of what’s at stake. He knows what this means, what it costs to protect something so precious in a world as dark as ours.
Jake gives me a final nod before turning to leave, his footsteps echoing softly against the cracked pavement. I watch him go, the weight of the night pressing down on me, but there’s a new determination in my step as I head back to my car.