The Return of Ghosts
Clara hadn't slept. The fire had died hours ago, but she still sat by the window, clutching a half-empty cup of tea that had long gone cold.
Mia was asleep upstairs — exhausted, pale, but safe. For now.
When Ethan entered, she didn't turn. "You should rest," he said softly.
She gave a humorless laugh. "Yeah, because sleep sounds so easy when your ex-assassin brother, your rival, and your psycho nemesis are probably having a group meeting about your death."
He almost smiled. Almost. "You're not funny."
"I'm hilarious," she muttered. "You're just emotionally constipated."
That got him to sit beside her. "You think joking makes it easier?"
"No," she said, looking at him. "But it keeps me from screaming."
For a long moment, neither spoke. The sound of rain against the glass filled the silence.
Finally, she said, "Mia told me what Victor did. About Marcus. About everything."
Ethan's expression didn't change, but his eyes dimmed. "Marcus made his choice."
"Maybe," Clara said quietly, "but it sounds like Victor made it for him."
He looked at her — really looked — and for once, the steel in his eyes softened. "You always see the best in people, even when they don't deserve it."
"Someone has to," she whispered.
Before either could say more, the security alarm buzzed again.
Ethan stood instantly, checking the monitor. "Someone's near the west entrance."
Clara followed. "Another rose delivery?"
He didn't answer — which already meant trouble.
When they reached the door, a shadow moved under the dim porch light.
"Stay back," Ethan ordered, pulling his gun.
The door creaked open slowly.
And there, dripping wet, stood Marcus.
Clara's mouth fell open. "Oh, come on. Did we install a revolving door for dramatic men?"
Marcus gave a humorless laugh. "Nice to see you too."
Ethan's voice was ice. "You have ten seconds to explain why you're here."
"I came to warn you," Marcus said. "Victor's planning to move tonight. He's sending something — or someone — here."
"Why should I believe you?" Ethan snapped.
"Because he's going after Clara."
The words froze the air.
Clara blinked. "I—wait, me? Why does everyone keep putting me on hit lists? I'm barely surviving rent."
Marcus stepped forward. "Victor thinks if he breaks you, Ethan breaks too."
Ethan's eyes darkened. "You led him to us once. What makes this time different?"
Marcus hesitated — then pulled a small black device from his pocket. "Because this time, I stole his plan."
Ethan took it warily. "What is it?"
"Encrypted data. All his contacts, movements, and a shipment he's moving tonight. If you open it, you'll find the location."
Ethan studied him. "Why give this to me?"
Marcus's gaze flicked to Clara. "Because she deserves to live in a world that's not built on our mess."
Clara blinked, startled by the sincerity in his voice. "That's… weirdly sweet. Also terrifying."
Marcus managed a faint smile. "I'll take that."
Ethan's expression remained unreadable. "If this is a trap—"
"It's not," Marcus cut in. "But if you don't act now, it'll be too late."
Before Ethan could respond, the lights flickered.
Clara frowned. "Oh no. I've seen this movie. This is the part where—"
The explosion shattered the rest of her sentence.
Glass rained down. The blast sent them sprawling. Smoke filled the air, alarms blaring.
Ethan coughed, pulling Clara behind the overturned table. "Clara, stay down!"
Through the haze, Marcus stumbled up, blood on his sleeve. "He's here."
Ethan looked at him sharply. "Who?"
Marcus's voice was barely audible. "Victor."
Outside, through the shattered window, headlights cut through the smoke — black cars, tinted and silent, rolling to a stop before the mansion.
Victor stepped out first, coat fluttering in the rain.
"Good evening, Blackwood," he called through the storm. "I believe we have unfinished business."
Ethan raised his weapon, eyes burning. Clara grabbed his arm. "Ethan—"
But he didn't answer. His voice was calm, deadly.
"Let's finish it, then."
Lightning split the sky.
The real war had arrived at their door.