The sea whipped black against the cliffs.
Nathaniel stood at the edge, the boy asleep by the fire behind him.
Alfreda and Celeste huddled near the broken villa walls, weapons ready.
But the wind carried something new tonight.
An omen.
Footsteps crunched over shattered stone.
Ezra.
Nathaniel didn't turn.
"You came to kill me," he said flatly.
Ezra stopped ten feet away, gun loose at his side.
"You made it easy," Ezra said, voice raw.
Nathaniel closed his eyes.
"I trusted you," he said.
Ezra laughed bitterly. "That was your first mistake."
Nathaniel turned slowly.
In Ezra's other hand: a silver envelope.
He tossed it at Nathaniel's feet.
Nathaniel didn't move to pick it up.
"You think you're free," Ezra said. "But freedom costs. And someone already paid your price."
Nathaniel's eyes narrowed. "Who?"
Ezra smiled sadly.
"The Widowmaker council."
Nathaniel stiffened.
"They're not dead?"
Ezra's smile deepened.
"No.
They're alive.
And they want their empire back."
A long, shuddering silence.
Nathaniel's mind raced.
"Why you?" he said.
"Because they know I'd be the only one you'd hesitate to kill," Ezra said.
He raised the gun.
"Don't prove them wrong."
—
Alfreda saw the glint of metal too late.
"NO—" she screamed, sprinting forward.
The shot cracked through the night.
Nathaniel staggered—but it wasn't pain that crossed his face.
It was fury.
Because the bullet hadn't been aimed at him.
It had been aimed at the boy.
Nathaniel moved with inhuman speed, catching the child around the waist and dragging him down as the second shot sliced past.
Ezra cursed.
Celeste opened fire, riddling the rocks around Ezra, forcing him to dive for cover.
Alfreda reached Nathaniel and the boy, shoving them behind the low stone wall.
Nathaniel pressed a hand to the boy's chest.
No blood.
No wound.
Safe.
For now.
But something inside Nathaniel snapped.
He rose from cover slowly, gun hanging loose in his hand.
Ezra emerged from behind the rocks, bleeding from a graze along his ribs.
"You can't kill me," Ezra said.
Nathaniel smiled—cold and terrible.
"I don't have to kill you."
Ezra's eyes flickered.
"What do you mean?"
Nathaniel turned slightly—just enough for Ezra to see Celeste circling behind him, silent as a ghost.
Ezra cursed, raising his gun—
Celeste fired.
The bullet punched through Ezra's shoulder, dropping him to one knee.
Alfreda moved next, kicking the weapon from his hand.
Nathaniel closed the distance in three long strides.
He knelt beside Ezra, grabbed him by the hair, and forced him to look at the boy trembling by the fire.
"You aimed at him," Nathaniel said softly.
Ezra spat blood.
"I did what I had to do."
Nathaniel's grip tightened.
"So will I."
He didn't hesitate.
He drove the blade up under Ezra's ribcage, into his heart.
Ezra gasped once.
Then sagged, dead.
Nathaniel let the body fall.
Celeste turned away, swallowing hard.
Alfreda stared at Nathaniel—eyes wild, dark.
"You're different," she said.
Nathaniel wiped the blood on Ezra's jacket, not looking at her.
"No," he said. "I'm the same."
The lie hung heavy between them.
—
At sunrise, they burned Ezra's body.
There were no prayers.
Only smoke.
Only ash.
Only silence.
—
In the ruins of Widowmaker territory, another council met under shadow.
Twelve seats.
Seven filled.
Five empty.
A woman with a cobra tattoo on her throat smiled as she watched the video feed from a drone above Nathaniel's villa.
"He thinks he's won," she said.
Another councilman laughed.
"Let him think it."
A third—an older man with a widow's peak and silver eyes—leaned forward.
"And when he builds his throne of bones," he said, voice smooth as poison, "we will tear it from under him."
The council nodded.
And their war banners—stained black with old blood—were raised once more.
The Widowmakers were not dead.
They had simply evolved.
And this time…
They would finish what they started.
—
Back at the villa, Nathaniel stood over a map, fingers tracing old trade routes, assassination points, drug lines.
"We can't fight them head-on," Alfreda said, leaning beside him.
"I know," Nathaniel said.
Celeste lit a cigarette, pacing.
"They'll come for the boy first."
Nathaniel's jaw tightened.
"Then we'll make them regret it."
The boy, listening quietly in the corner, rose to his feet.
"I want to fight," he said.
Nathaniel turned, heart twisting.
"You're just a kid."
The boy stared him down—fierce, stubborn.
"I'm a Widowmaker."
Nathaniel exhaled slowly.
Looked at Alfreda.
Looked at Celeste.
And saw the same cold truth reflected back.
This world ate the soft.
Only killers survived.
He knelt before the boy.
"Then we teach you to kill," Nathaniel said. "But you only kill for one reason."
The boy blinked.
"What reason?"
Nathaniel smiled grimly.
"To protect the ones you love."
The boy nodded once.
Solid.
Sure.
Nathaniel rose, drawing his gun, handing it to him.
"Lesson one," he said. "Never trust your enemy."
The boy took the gun in small, steady hands.
And smiled.
The Widowmakers had fallen.
But something far more dangerous had risen from their ashes:
A new breed of darkness.
And it was hungry.