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SHADOWS OF THE OAT CHAPTER 169
The Test of LoyaltyThe air is thick with the scent of rain and gasoline. The city hums in the background, the distant wail of sirens echoing somewhere far enough away to be irrelevant. A streetlamp flickers above me, casting long, distorted shadows against the damp alley walls.I stand there, hands in my pockets, waiting.This isn’t a normal job.It’s a test.I can feel it in the way they watch me. In the silence that stretches too long between us. In the weight of the gun tucked against my ribs, heavy with expectation.The Oath doesn’t give second chances.And right now, they want to know if I truly belong.Mason stands a few feet to my right, arms crossed, unreadable. His gaze is sharp and calculating, the kind that measures a man’s worth in the span of a breath. He’s seen others fail before. He’s seen them hesitate, flinch—make that fatal mistake.I already know what he’s thinking.If I hesitate now, I’m as good as dead.If I don’t do this, I was never meant to be here in the firs
SHADOWS OF THE OAT CHAPTER 170
Julian’s LegacyThe leather chair is empty.But Julian is everywhere.His presence lingers in the walls, in the scent of aged whiskey and smoke that clings to the air. The desk, worn but solid, holds the weight of his decisions—some written in ink, most in blood. The bookshelves are untouched, lined with old volumes Julian never read but insisted on keeping. He always said appearances mattered more than substance.And now, here I stand.The room is quiet, yet it hums with history. It’s the same office where Julian taught me everything. Where he tested me. Where he built me into something unrecognizable.My gaze settles on the chair.The seat of power.It’s strange how something so ordinary—a chair, a desk, a room—can hold so much weight. But this space was never just an office. It was a throne. And Julian? A king.And now, he’s gone.And the crown—the burden—has passed to me.I step forward, my boots pressing against the hardwood floor with deliberate weight. Each step echoes, the sou
SHADOWS OF THE OAT CHAPTER 171
A Moment of DoubtI exhale sharply, my breath fogging up the window as I stare into the night. The city sprawls below, lights flickering like dying stars against the darkness. From up here, it looks peaceful, almost serene. But I know better. Beneath that manufactured glow is a world rotting at its core, ruled by shadows and whispers.I should feel victorious. I’ve done everything The Oath asked of me—every mission, every sacrifice, every bloodstained decision. I played my part, followed every order without question. And yet, standing here now, there’s an emptiness pressing against my ribs, heavy and suffocating.My fingers tighten against the cool glass, knuckles whitening.Why doesn’t it feel like enough?A soft knock behind me. I don’t turn. I already know it’s her.“You’re brooding again,” Evelyn murmurs, her voice smooth, but laced with something else. Concern, maybe.I let out a low chuckle, hollow and humorless. “Is that what we call it now?”Her reflection joins mine in the gl
SHADOWS OF THE OAT CHAPTER 172
The Mirror of the PastThey stand in perfect rows, backs straight, shoulders squared, eyes filled with something that used to burn in me once—purpose. Or at least, the illusion of it.I watch them from the shadows, unseen but seeing everything. They remind me of ghosts. Not of the dead, but of who I used to be. Young. Eager. Unaware.Just like I was.Dante stands at the front, barking orders in his usual clipped tone. His presence alone commands attention, respect—or fear. Some of these recruits already worship him, hanging onto every word, believing this is the start of something bigger than themselves.It’s the same belief they drilled into me when I first arrived. That we were soldiers for something greater. That we weren’t just mercenaries, but guardians of order.A lie wrapped in just enough truth to make it feel real.My fingers tighten into fists at my sides.Dante knows I’m here. He hasn’t looked my way, but I see it in the stiffness of his shoulders, in the way his voice hold
SHADOWS OF THE OAT CHAPTER 173
A Job Too FamiliarThe briefing is the same. The setup is the same. The orders are the same.And so is the lie.I sit in a dimly lit room, the stale scent of cigarette smoke lingering in the air. The projector hums, flashing grainy surveillance images onto the wall. A man in his mid-forties, expensive suit, with tired eyes. A name I won’t remember. Because I’ve done this before. Again. And again. And again.Dante’s voice is smooth and rehearsed. "The target is a liability. We need him removed quietly."I lean back in my chair, arms crossed. The leather creaks beneath me. I don’t ask why. I already know the answer. The Oath never eliminates threats—it eliminates inconveniences.I should walk away. I should say no.Instead, I say nothing.Evelyn glances at me from across the table. She knows. Knows I don’t believe in this anymore. Knows I’m running out of reasons to pretend I do. But she also knows I don’t have a choice. Not yet.Dante taps the file in front of him. “Nathan. This one’s
SHADOWS OF THE OAT CHAPTER 174
The Ghost of JulianJulian’s voice follows me, no matter how fast I run."You can never escape what you are."I hear it in the silence. In the gunfire. In the spaces between my own heartbeat. It’s there when I blink. When I breathe. When I close my eyes and try to pretend—just for a second—that I’m someone else.But I know the truth.There is no escape.Not from this life.Not from him.Not from the shadow he left behind.Even now, as I press my back against a cold brick wall, blood drying on my knuckles, I can still hear him.The target—no, Zicky —leans against the dumpster across from me, chest heaving. His suit is torn, his face pale beneath the streetlamp’s glow. He’s not used to this. The running. The bleeding. The knowing that you’re alive only because someone else missed their shot.I should leave him. It would be easier.But I don’t.Because if I do, I’m proving Julian right.And I can’t let that happen.Zicky exhales sharply. "This is insane.""Welcome to my world." I glance
SHADOWS OF THE OAT CHAPTER 175
The Price of PowerPower isn’t freedom.That’s the lie they sell you in the beginning.They tell you that if you climb high enough if you prove yourself ruthless enough, you’ll never have to take orders again. No one will touch you. No one will question you. You’ll stand above it all, untouchable.But I know better now.The more power The Oath gives me, the heavier it becomes.It drags behind me like a chain, growing thicker with everybody I drop, every deal I make, every mission I don’t walk away from.I used to think I could claw my way out of this life. That if I fought hard enough, I could carve my own path.But power isn’t an escape. It’s a cage with gilded bars.And I just locked myself inside it.---The air is thick with cigarette smoke and whiskey when I step into the meeting room. The Oath’s higher-ups sit around the long table, their faces half-lit by the dim chandeliers overhead. They watch me like wolves circling fresh meat.I don’t blink.I don’t flinch.I know what they
SHADOWS OF THE OAT CHAPTER 176
The Cost of ObedienceControl is an illusion.They let you think you have it. They let you feel powerful. Important. But it’s a trick. A rope you climb, only to find out too late that it’s wrapped around your neck.I should have seen it coming.I thought I was moving up. I thought I was calling the shots. But I wasn’t.I was just another piece on the board, waiting to be sacrificed.And now, the hand that moves me has made its next move.---The job is different this time.Not a target. Not a cleanup.It’s a message.Dante sits across from me, his cigarette burning low between his fingers. The smoke curls lazily through the air as he watches me, amusement flickering in his dark eyes."You’re sending a message," I say, voice flat."That’s right."I glance down at the folder in front of me. It’s already open, the details spelled out in crisp, professional words. A warning disguised as an assignment.I already know what it means.A family. A woman. A kid.Not the targets. Just collateral
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CHAPTER 220
The Last ThoughtI stare at my reflection, my breath uneven, my eyes hollow. The glass is cracked—thin fractures running like veins across the surface, distorting my face. Fitting.The overhead light flickers, casting brief shadows across the room. It’s cold. Not the kind of cold that bites at your skin, but the kind that settles in your bones, that tells you something is coming. The kind that makes you wonder if it’s always been there, waiting.I press my palms against the sink, fingers curling against the porcelain. The weight in my chest isn’t fear. It isn’t regret. It’s something worse. A question with no answer.Behind me, the door creaks open. A slow, deliberate sound. My hand moves instinctively to my gun, but I already know who it is."That the last time you’re gonna check yourself out, Nathan?" a voice teases, rough with amusement.I smirk, though it feels foreign on my face. "Figured I should see what’s left of me before I walk out that door."Jackson leans against the doorf
CHAPTER 219
The End of the LineThe city is quiet. Too quiet.Not the kind of quiet that comes with peace, but the kind that signals something is about to break. It settles over the skyline, heavy, waiting. The streets are empty, but the ghosts of what I’ve built, of what I’ve destroyed, linger in the alleyways and shadowed corners.I stand at the edge of it all, watching from the rooftop of an old high-rise, the cold wind whipping against my face. Below me, the pieces are moving, each player stepping into position, some thinking they’re the ones holding the strings. They aren’t.They never were.Jackson shifts beside me, his hands buried deep in his pockets. He’s restless. Always is before things go south.“You sure about this?” he asks.I don’t answer right away. Because there’s no easy answer. No right one, either.He sighs, shaking his head. “You always do this. Get in too deep and think you can control every variable. But this—” he gestures to the streets below, to the quiet before the storm
CHAPTER 218
The Final MoveThe city is waiting.It doesn't know it yet, but the tides are shifting. Power doesn’t disappear; it transforms and morphs into something new, something unrecognizable until it’s already taken hold. I’ve seen it happen too many times to count. This time, I’m the one pulling the strings.This time, it ends on my terms.I stand in the shadows of an empty warehouse, the scent of oil and dust thick in the air. The city hums outside, its lights flickering through the gaps in the rusted metal walls. Jackson stands beside me, his body tense, arms crossed. He’s waiting for me to explain, to tell him what comes next.I let the silence stretch before I finally speak.“We’re not burning it down.”Jackson’s head snaps toward me, eyes narrowing. “What?”I meet his stare, my voice steady. “We’re not wiping the board clean. We’re flipping it.”For the first time in a long time, Jackson looks unsure. He shifts his weight, jaw tightening as he processes my words. “You said yourself—this
CHAPTER 217
The Final CrossroadsThe city hums beneath me, restless and alive. From this rooftop, I see everything—the neon glow stretching into the horizon, the winding streets below, the fractured heartbeat of a place that never stops moving. A world of light and shadow, built on secrets, power, and debts that can never truly be repaid.The air is thick with the scent of rain and asphalt, the faintest trace of gasoline lingering in the wind. It’s the smell of something on the verge of combustion, of a city always teetering on the edge of chaos. I tighten my grip on the cigarette between my fingers, watching the ember glow in the dark, a tiny heartbeat against the cold night. I don’t smoke. Not really. I just like the way it feels—holding something that’s burning, something that’s alive for just a little while before it fades into nothing.I should walk away.I should let it all burn.But I don’t.Because no matter how much I tell myself that I don’t care anymore, that none of it matters, the tr
CHAPTER 216
The Last Time He Sees RileyThe air is colder than I expected. Maybe that’s fitting. Maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be.She’s already there when I arrive, standing near the edge of the pier, arms folded tight against the wind. The city sprawls behind her, all light and noise, but out here, it’s just the quiet lapping of the water and the space between us.Riley doesn’t turn when I approach.“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she says, her voice carrying over the water, calm but unreadable.I stop a few feet away. Close enough to feel the weight of her presence. Far enough to know I shouldn’t get any closer.“Neither was I,” I admit.She exhales a slow, steady breath. “You look the same.”“So do you.”A lie.There’s something different in her now. Something more guarded, more distant. Like she’s finally built the walls she should’ve had when we were younger.Like she’s learned.She turns, finally meeting my gaze, and for a moment, it’s just us. No past, no future. Just this one sliver of t
CHAPTER 215
The Fall of KingsThe thing about power is that it never learns.It moves through different hands, dresses itself in new suits, and speaks in fresh voices. But underneath, it’s always the same: greed, arrogance, and the inevitable mistake of thinking you can control what was never meant to be tamed.Ronan believed he could do it differently.I watch from the shadows as he proves himself wrong.---The city is quieter these days. Not because the storm has passed, but because it’s waiting to break.I see it in the way people move, the way deals are whispered instead of spoken. Ronan’s reign is still fresh, but already, the cracks are showing.And he doesn’t even realize it.Or maybe he does. Maybe he’s just too proud to admit it.I’m standing outside a high-rise downtown, watching from across the street. Up there, behind floor-to-ceiling windows, Ronan is playing king. A meeting’s in progress—his men, his allies, his problems.He thinks he has time. He thinks he’s in control.He doesn’t
CHAPTER 214
The Last WarningThe city breathes differently when men like Ronan step into power.It’s a slow shift, subtle. The same streets, the same lights flickering over cracked pavement, the same late-night murmurs of business and betrayal. But there’s a tension now, a new weight pressing down like the first signs of a storm.I know it because I’ve felt it before. I did it before.Which is why I know exactly how this ends.---I picked the place. Neutral ground. A quiet, high-end bar tucked away in the heart of the city, the kind where power plays out in whispered deals and expensive whiskey. A place where men like Ronan feel at home.I sit in a booth at the far end, back to the wall, watching the entrance. He’s late. Not long enough to be disrespectful, just enough to establish control. Classic move.When he finally steps inside, he moves like he owns the place.Not in the way Cormac did, with brute force and intimidation. No, Ronan is more refined. His presence doesn’t demand attention—it i
CHAPTER 213
The New ProtégéThe city doesn’t rest, and neither do the people hungry for its power.Cormac is gone. Locked away, his empire dismantled, his influence reduced to nothing but whispers in the dark. And yet, before the dust has even settled, another one steps forward. It always happens this way.A cycle. A curse.I watch from the rooftop as the meeting below unfolds. A dozen figures sit around a long table in a high-rise suite, their silhouettes blurred by tinted windows. But it’s the one at the head of the table that has my full attention.Young. Too young.Sharp suit, sharper eyes. He moves like he owns the room—because he does. The way they lean in when he speaks, the way they nod, hesitant but obedient. He’s already in control.He reminds me of someone.Me.I exhale slowly, pressing my earpiece. "Evelyn, you getting this?"Her voice crackles through. "Loud and clear. Looks like we found our new kingpin."I don’t respond right away, just watch as he steeples his fingers, listening i
CHAPTER 212
The War That Never EndsThe Oath had fallen, but the world didn’t change. Not really.Power is a living thing—it doesn’t disappear; it mutates. It slithers, molds itself into new hands, new faces, new kings and queens who claim they’ll do better. I watch from the shadows as history repeats itself, over and over, like a bad song stuck on a loop.I blend into the dimly lit alleyway, my coat pulled tight against the cold bite of the city. Rain drips from the rusted gutters, forming puddles at my feet, but I barely notice. Across the street, men shake hands under the glow of a flickering street lamp, sealing deals in the same way their predecessors did—with quiet, well-dressed ruthlessness. Different players, same game.I should walk away.I promised myself I would.But ghosts don’t rest easy, and the ones I carry are especially loud.A gust of wind blows through the alley, ruffling my hair as I step back into the shadows. My ribs still ache from my last fight, and my knuckles are a canva
