CHAPTER 28- Something To Fix

The night lay thick over the Ghost Fleet's base, a suffocating shroud of shadows as if the forest itself conspired to guard the secrets buried within its depths. The air was damp with the scent of pine and earth, and the distant howls of unseen predators wove into the crackling of a bonfire that burned like a bleeding wound at the heart of the camp. Flames lashed upward, devouring the darkness, casting jagged, writhing shadows that danced like specters around the lone figure standing before them.

The Chief of Ghost Fleet stood unmoving, his gray overcoat twisting in the wind like a phantom's cloak. He leaned on his cane, a towering figure of menace, one-eyed and inscrutable. The firelight carved his features into something monstrous—half in shadow, half drenched in an eerie red glow. His stare was fixed on the flames, but his mind was elsewhere, buried in a place blacker than the night itself. A place where regret, vengeance, and something far colder festered in silence.

Kim Jae spotted him as he made his way back from the warehouse, the scent of gunmetal still clinging to his fingers. The weight of the night pressed down on him, but exhaustion was a luxury he couldn't afford. He pulled his black blazer tighter against the cold, his brown boots clanking against the wooden planks—an odd contrast, just like him.

"It's past your bedtime, Chief," Jae said, voice light, yet carrying an edge of something sharper. He wasn't concerned. No one concerned themselves with the chief—not unless they were fools. But something about the stillness of the man before him sent a ripple of unease through his gut.

The chief turned his head slightly, just enough for the firelight to catch his single eye. A flicker of something unreadable danced in its depths—fleeting, fragile. Sadness? No. Impossible. The chief was incapable of such a thing. And yet…

"Did you have a drink, Chief?" Jae's tone was teasing, but his gaze was sharp, hunting for cracks in the armor.

The chief didn't answer immediately, only gave the faintest of nods, his gaze drifting back to the flames. Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Jae should have left. Should have turned on his heel and walked away before he got caught in whatever web was being spun.

"The spies we sent to Valentino were caught and killed," the chief murmured. His voice was quiet—too quiet—but it carried the weight of something far heavier than mere words.

Jae stiffened, his mind working through the implications. "Yeah, I heard." His tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth as he considered. "Hades must have gotten intel on our operations. He knows our ways better than anyone. It's only a matter of time before he makes his move."

The chief exhaled a low chuckle, devoid of humor. "You sound like you want him to."

Jae met his gaze without flinching. "If he did, maybe we'd finally have an excuse to finish this."

The chief tilted his head, his expression almost amused. Then, his gaze flickered to the sky. Jae followed it. The stars hung above them like distant watchers, cold and indifferent, their light swallowed by the abyss of night.

"If he did," the chief murmured, "maybe I'd feel better."

Jae's breath hitched, a prickle of something running down his spine. The words were… wrong. Not in their meaning, but in their delivery. There was something too bitter, too raw, laced beneath them. He had followed this man for nine years. Killed for him. Bled for him. And not once—not once—had he ever seen him falter.

"What?" The question escaped before he could stop it.

The chief chuckled again, but it was softer this time, tinged with something almost—no, definitely—mocking.

"You wanted to destroy Valentino," Jae pressed, wary now. "Hades. The Crownless King. Isn't that what all of this is for?"

The chief turned to him then, a slow, deliberate motion. His lips curled, but the expression never reached his eye.

"You're right," he said. "I'm working for the king."

The words dripped with irony, a twisted joke Jae wasn't in on. His stomach tightened. Something was wrong.

Then the chief spoke again, and this time, the air turned to ice.

"Kim Jae," the chief mused, as though recalling something distant. "You were close to Erika once, weren't you?"

Jae's pulse stuttered.

The name landed like a blade to the gut, sharp and sudden, cutting through the carefully constructed walls he had spent years reinforcing. His fingers curled into fists at his sides. He knew better than to react. Knew better than to give the Chief anything. But his breath came just a fraction too sharp, his muscles tensed just a second too long.

"That was a long time ago," he said, voice even. "We both found our paths."

The chief studied him, and Jae had the eerie feeling of being dissected, of his very soul being weighed and measured.

"But is this the path you wished for?"

Jae exhaled slowly. "Life doesn't go according to plan, Chief. We make choices. We live with them."

The chief's lips twitched, almost pitying. "Choices," he echoed. "And what if those choices come back to haunt you?"

Jae clenched his jaw. He didn't answer.

The chief let the silence stretch before delivering the final blow.

"Hades has given Erika the Pigeon of Ring," he said casually, like he was discussing a weather report. "It's been passed down for generations among Valentino's heads and their partners. I imagine it won't be long before they marry. Perhaps even have a child."

Something inside Jae fractured.

His entire body locked up, his mind screaming at him to keep his face blank, to not react, to—

But the chief saw it. Oh, he saw it all.

Jae forced his voice into something detached. Hollow. "It doesn't matter. As long as she gets what she wants."

He turned sharply, walking away before the poison in the chief's words seeped any deeper into his bones. But the chief's voice, smooth and insidious, stopped him in his tracks.

"You can still fix things if you want to."

"There is nothing to fix, Chief."

Jae didn't turn back. Didn't dare to. His steps were too quick, his shoulders too tense. But the Chief… the Chief was watching. And he was smiling.

A slow, deliberate smile that curled like smoke from a dying flame.

"I'll have to make good use of this," he murmured to himself, fingers brushing the edge of his eyepatch. "After all, the truth is a weapon sharper than any blade."

He chuckled, low and dark, tilting his head as if in thought.

"To act a little pitiful is all it takes to get someone's guard down."

His laughter was soft, rich with amusement.

"Hades, Hades, Hades…" he whispered, tasting the name like a fine wine. "You don't even know that the woman you're destroying yourself for is the same one who's been slipping the dagger into your spine."

His eye gleamed in the firelight, cruel and knowing.

"And my dear, foolish assistant just handed me the confirmation I needed."

The flames crackled hungrily, casting their wicked light over the forest as the chief's smile widened.

A predator, savoring the taste of blood.