Darkness clings to me like a heavy blanket. My body aches, my muscles are tight, and there’s a sharp, burning pain in my side. I take a slow breath, trying to steady my head, but even that hurts.The smell of blood is thick in the air.I blink, trying to focus. The motel room around me is a disaster. Broken glass covers the floor, catching the flickering neon light from outside. A chair is overturned. Bullet holes mark the walls.And my hands…They’re covered in blood.Panic grips me. What happened?My heartbeat pounds in my chest. I press my fingers against my temple, trying to remember. But there’s nothing. A black void where the last two days should be.A sharp pain pulls my attention to my side. My shirt is ripped, dark with dried blood. Someone—me?—stitched a wound just above my hip. It’s messy but holding. I touch it, wincing. It’s real. This is real.But I have no idea how I got here.I push myself up, unsteady on my feet. I glance at the cracked mirror above the dresser. The r

Rain pours down hard, slicking the streets and turning the city into a glowing maze of neon reflections. Every light stretches across the wet pavement like a twisted, endless road. I weave through traffic, pushing the stolen motorcycle faster, ignoring the angry honks and flashing headlights.The city is awake, moving, alive. It doesn’t care that I’m being hunted. It doesn’t stop for the man running for his life.I keep my breathing steady, my mind focused. But under the surface, something stirs. Fear? Doubt? Or something worse—guilt?I don’t know if I did what they say I did. That’s the worst part. The unknown. My own memories feel broken, like a puzzle with missing pieces. I don’t know what’s real. I don’t know who I can trust. I only know that stopping means death.I twist the throttle, forcing the bike to go faster. The cold wind lashes against my face, biting into my skin. It hurts, but it keeps me awake. Keeps me sharp. I had to ditch my old clothes, had to get rid of the blood,

The sound of the collapsing building still pounds in my ears as I run. My breath is fast and sharp, cutting through the cold night air. The backpack slams against my back with every step, the laptop inside pressing against my spine. The Oath isn’t just trying to scare me—they want me dead.The city around me is a maze of flickering streetlights, old brick walls, and neon lights reflecting in puddles from last night’s rain. I dart through the alleyways, my boots barely making a sound on the wet pavement.Behind me, shadows move together. No rushing. No wasted steps. They know me. They know how I fight.I push harder.The alley ahead gets narrower. The walls close in. I jump over a chain-link fence, my muscles burning as I hit the ground hard on the other side. I twist as I land, pulling out my Glock 19 and firing two shots at the closest shadow. One body drops, but I don’t have time to check.They keep coming.A figure lunges from the side. A punch slams into my ribs. Wrong move. My bo

The cheap motel room smells like old cigarettes and damp carpet. The kind of place where people disappear, where the walls hold too many secrets. It’s perfect for hiding. And right now, that’s exactly what I need.Outside, a flickering neon sign casts red and blue flashes through the thin curtains, painting the walls like a broken strobe light. I watch the colors shift, almost hypnotized, but not enough to ignore the heavy weight in my chest.I sit on the edge of the bed, head in my hands, fingers pressing against my temples. The headache is sharp, relentless, pounding at the back of my skull. I shut my eyes, trying to focus. Trying to remember.A name keeps echoing in my mind.Elias Graves.It won’t go away. It’s like a splinter under my skin—always there, always itching. I’ve spent hours searching, calling in favors, hacking into databases that should have been impossible to access. Nothing.No records. No background. It’s like he never existed.And yet, I know he’s important.I lea

The train station is full of people—families pulling heavy bags, businessmen staring at their phones, a couple whispering in the corner. To them, it’s just another normal day.To me, it’s a trap waiting to happen.I keep my head down, my jacket heavy on my shoulders. My ribs still ache from the last fight, but pain doesn’t matter right now. The Oath is hunting me. I can feel it, a weight pressing against my spine, a shadow creeping just out of sight.I check the arrival board. Three minutes until the next train. Too long. Too dangerous. I need to keep moving.A mother walks past me, holding her child’s hand. A businessman checks his watch. A station worker wipes down a bench. It looks normal. But something about it feels off.My instincts take over, scanning for details that don’t fit. The worker’s uniform is too stiff, too clean. The businessman’s hands don’t match his expensive suit—knuckles rough, like a man who fights. The mother? Her shoes. Tactical boots.My pulse slows, my focu