Chapter 005
The Organization was coming. That was the only certainty in a week that had dissolved into chaos. It had been more than a decade since he’d walked away, and the hierarchy he remembered was likely dust and ashes by now. If he was going to dismantle them, or at least survive them, he needed names.
He dialed Artemis.
He didn’t bother with a conference call. Russell would get the debrief later, and frankly, Voren didn’t have the bandwidth to manage Russell’s frenetic energy right now. He stood by the window of the living room, staring out at the street below. It looked normal. Cars passed. People walked dogs. None of them knew that a hit squad was likely navigating the same traffic, checking addresses, looking for him.
"So, the Organization," Artemis said the moment the line connected. No pleasantries. She knew why he was calling.
"They’re the active threat," Voren said, keeping his voice low. "What do you know?"
"A lot. None of it good. You really worked for these people, Voren?"
"You don’t have to remind me it was a bad idea. I’m aware."
"Good," she said, the sharpness in her tone softening just a fraction. "I’m still going to kick your ass when I see you. You’ve made powerful enemies. They aren’t the type to stop just because you ask nicely."
"I never expected them to."
Voren turned away from the window. The glass felt too thin. "Tell me what’s happening."
"From what I could dig up, they’re cleaning house," Artemis explained. The sound of typing clattered in the background. "There’s been chatter in D.C. Several government branches are looking into the contractors they work with. The Organization is on that list. They have legal contracts—military support, logistics—and they’ll lose those billions if the investigators find the other side of the ledger. Especially if journalists get a whiff of it."
"The side I worked for," Voren said.
"Exactly. The mercenary work. The wet work. They’re scrubbing the operation, Voren. They’re killing loose ends to make sure no one can testify."
Voren rubbed the back of his neck. It made sense. Ruthless, pragmatic, and entirely consistent with the people who had trained him. It wasn’t personal; it was just accounting. But knowing that didn’t make the target on his back any smaller.
"Who’s running the cleanup?" he asked.
"A woman named Helena."
Voren’s hand tightened on the phone until the plastic creaked. Helena.
"I take it you know her?" Artemis asked.
"I remember her," Voren said, his stomach turning over. "We worked together a few times. She’s... persistent. When she’s given an order, she’s like a dog with a bone. She doesn’t let go until she’s consumed everything."
"And right now, you’re the bone."
"I’m sure she’s thrilled about that."
"You think she remembers you?"
"Oh, she remembers," Voren said grimly. "We clashed more than we got along. If she’s the one coming, she’ll take pleasure in it."
"Then you have bigger problems," Artemis said. "She’s not alone."
Voren closed his eyes. "What do you mean?"
"She’s assembled a team. I couldn’t find much on the personnel, which is terrifying in itself, but what I did find suggests they’re specialized. Extremely dangerous. They travel together, and they’re in town right now."
In town. The radius was shrinking.
"I have a team, too," Voren said, though it felt like a hollow boast. He had a recovering torture victim, a necromancer who couldn’t look him in the eye, and a skeleton pet that wanted to eat his face.
"You do," Artemis agreed. "But your team doesn’t have what they have. Voren, the intelligence reports mention 'assets with special abilities.' I don’t know if that means tech or... something else."
Voren felt the blood drain from his face. "Abilities? Like Kaelen?"
"Maybe. People talk about this unit with fear. Awe, even. They aren’t just shooters. They’re something else."
"Maybe I should just hand myself over," Voren mumbled, the old fatalism creeping in. If he surrendered, maybe they’d leave Kaelen alone.
"You’ll do no such thing," Artemis snapped. "We’ll find a way. You aren’t alone this time."
Voren hung up a moment later, staring at the blank screen. He wasn’t alone, no. But looking at the closed bedroom door where Kaelen had retreated, he felt more isolated than ever. If Helena had brought people with powers—people who could do what Kaelen did, or worse—then Voren’s skills with a gun might not be enough.
He had brought this to their doorstep. He had dragged Kaelen into a world where people could snap bones with their minds or rot flesh with a touch. And the worst part? Kaelen didn’t even know the half of it.
Kaelen knew the news was bad before Voren said a word.
He’d been waiting in the kitchen, listening to the muffled cadence of Voren’s voice through the wall. When Voren emerged, he looked older. The lines around his eyes were etched deep, and he held his phone like it was a detonator he’d just disarmed.
From the bathroom down the hall, the sound of water running and Silas singing—loudly and aggressively off-key—drifted into the living room. It was a bizarre, domestic counterpoint to the tension radiating off Voren.
"What happened?" Kaelen asked. He was angry, yes. He was hurt. But the instinct to care, to check for wounds, was a reflex he couldn’t amputate.
Voren set his phone on the coffee table. He looked at Kaelen, really looked at him, with a mixture of longing and fear that made Kaelen’s chest ache.
"I was just on the phone with Elara," Voren said.
"It’s not good news, is it?"
Voren shook his head. "Far from it. The Organization sent someone I used to work with. A woman named Helena. She knows how I think, how I move. And she didn’t come alone."
Kaelen leaned against the counter, crossing his arms to hold himself together. "A team?"
"A specialized team," Voren said. "Elara thinks they have abilities."
Kaelen blinked. "Abilities? Like... like me?"
"She couldn’t confirm if it’s necromancy, but it’s something supernatural. She hasn’t been able to identify exactly what they can do, but if the Organization is using them, they’re lethal."
"Does she know where they are?"
"Just that they’re in the area."
Kaelen felt a cold stone drop into his stomach. In the area.
He glanced at the clock on the microwave. He was supposed to meet his mother for lunch in an hour. They had a standing date at that little bistro on 4th Street. He’d been looking forward to it—an hour of normalcy, of complaining about work and hearing about her garden.
He couldn’t go.
If Helena and her freak show were watching, his mother was a target. A leverage point. He couldn’t risk being seen with her. He couldn’t even risk being near her.
"I have to call my mom," Kaelen said, his voice sounding distant to his own ears. He reached for his phone.
"You could still go," Voren offered, though he looked like the suggestion physically pained him. "I can come. Watch the perimeter. Protect you from a distance."
"No." Kaelen shook his head violently. "I can’t risk it. If they see us together... if they see her..." He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to. "Thank you, though."
Voren nodded, looking away. He understood. It was the same calculation Voren made every day: distance equals safety.
Kaelen dialed. He forced his voice to brighten, injecting a fake lightness that tasted like ash. The conversation was short. He invented a surprise job—a rush order at the funeral home, a body that couldn’t wait. His mother accepted it easily. She always did. She was proud of his work, oblivious to the fact that her son wasn’t just prepping bodies, but waking them up. And she certainly didn’t know that her son’s boyfriend was a retired hitman currently being hunted by a government-contracted death squad.
Kaelen wanted to keep it that way.
"I’m sorry, Mom. Next week, I promise. Love you."
He hung up and set the phone down. The silence in the room was heavy, broken only by Silas finally turning off the shower.
Kaelen turned to Voren. The fear for his mother had burned off some of the hesitation. He was tired of the shadows. He was tired of the gaps in the story.
"I just told my mother I wouldn’t see her," Kaelen said. "I lied to her to keep her safe. Now it’s your turn."
Voren stiffened. "Kaelen—"
"You’re going to tell me about the Organization. And I want to know why you worked with them. The truth, Voren."
Voren walked over to the armchair but didn’t sit. He looked trapped. "I already told you. I worked with them because I didn’t have a choice. It was that or starve. I was a kid, Kaelen. I made what I thought was the right decision to survive."
"You said you never killed innocents."
"It’s... complicated." Voren ran a hand through his hair. "I never killed children. And with adults, I tried to make sure Elara did background checks. I tried to verify the targets. But mistakes happen."
Kaelen stepped closer. "Are you telling me that you killed whoever they ordered you to kill?"
"No," Voren said firmly. "I did what I could to avoid it. It was a fine line to walk, but I walked it. until I couldn’t stand it anymore."
"But you walked it."
"I did things I’m not proud of," Voren said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "But I never killed just anyone they put in front of me. I promise you that."
"So you didn’t kill children? Or young people?"
Kaelen watched Voren’s face. He watched the micro-expressions, the slight twitch at the corner of his eye, the way his gaze didn’t quite meet Kaelen’s.
"I didn’t," Voren promised.
Kaelen felt something shatter inside him. It was a quiet sound, like a glass dropping on a carpet.
Liar.
He knew. He had seen it. The nightmare wasn’t just a dream; it was a memory pulled from the ether, a psychic resonance that necromancy sometimes dragged into the light. He had seen the warehouse. He had seen the girl.
Melissa.
She had been young. Maybe twenty. Terrified. Innocent in every way that mattered. And Voren had raised his gun and put a bullet in her.
Kaelen looked at the man he loved—the man who made terrible coffee, who let him steal the duvet, who was currently looking at him with desperate, pleading eyes. Voren was lying. He was lying to protect himself, or maybe to protect Kaelen from the horror of who he really was.
But the why didn’t matter. The lie was a wall, and Kaelen was on the other side of it.
"Okay," Kaelen said. The word felt like gravel in his throat.
Voren exhaled, his shoulders slumping as if he’d dodged a bullet. He thought Kaelen believed him.
Kaelen turned away, heading for the kitchen so Voren wouldn’t see the tears pricking his eyes. He couldn’t live with this. He couldn’t share a bed with a man who would rewrite history to save face. But he couldn’t blow everything up just yet. Not with Helena coming. Not with his mother’s safety on the line.
He needed proof. He needed the unvarnished truth, the kind that didn’t come from a lover’s mouth but from the cold, hard earth.
Melissa Campbell was dead. But for Kaelen, death was just a waiting room.
If Voren wouldn’t tell him what happened in that warehouse, Kaelen would ask the victim. He was going to find her grave. He was going to wake her up. And he was going to make her talk.