Chapter 5: Truths Buried in Blood

Evelyne pulled her wrist free from Phileo's grasp, her breath unsteady. The weight of his words crushed her chest like a boulder.

"I was there."

The sentence echoed in her mind, loud and unrelenting.

Her body felt cold.

"You—" Her voice faltered. She forced herself to look at him, really look. His gray eyes, once impassive, now held something deeper. Guilt. Something raw.

She took a step back. "You knew my parents."

Phileo didn't answer immediately. His expression remained unreadable, but his grip on something unseen tightened.

"Yes."

The confirmation sent a shiver down her spine.

Evelyne clenched her fists. "Then tell me what happened that night."

Phileo exhaled through his nose.

"You're not ready for the truth."

Anger flared inside her. "Who are you to decide that?"

Phileo's gaze darkened. "The one who knows what it will do to you."

Evelyne's heart pounded.

Every step she had taken, every clue she had chased—it had all led her here, to this man. And now, standing before him, the truth dangled just out of reach.

She wasn't leaving without it.

"You owe me this," she said, voice firm.

Phileo was silent for a long moment. Then, finally, he spoke.

"I was sixteen when I took my first life."

Evelyne swallowed hard.

"I had no choice," he continued, voice flat. "The Order took in orphans, trained them from childhood. We didn't get to choose our targets. Only obey."

Evelyne's nails dug into her palms.

"The Order?" she repeated.

Phileo nodded. "The same one that sent an assassin after us tonight."

A chill ran down her spine. "You're saying the people who killed my parents… they're still alive?"

"Yes."

Her breath caught.

For years, she had believed it was a single act of violence. A tragedy with no loose ends. But now—now she realized she had been chasing only a fraction of the truth.

She had never been looking for just a killer.

She had been chasing ghosts.

Phileo turned away. "Your father was a powerful man. He had enemies. I was sent to end him."

Evelyne's throat felt dry. "And my mother?"

Silence.

Phileo's shoulders tensed.

Evelyne stepped forward, her pulse a hammer in her chest. "Did you kill her too?"

Phileo turned sharply, his gray eyes flashing. "No."

The sharpness in his voice startled her.

"No," he repeated, quieter this time. "She wasn't supposed to die."

Evelyne felt her breath hitch. "But she did."

Phileo's jaw clenched. "Yes."

The room felt too small. The weight of their shared history pressed against her chest.

For years, Evelyne had imagined this moment—finding the person responsible. She had told herself she would hate them, that she would demand justice.

But standing before Phileo, she found herself drowning in something else entirely.

Confusion.

He didn't look like a monster. He didn't even look like a man who had moved on.

He looked like someone still carrying the dead on his back.

A Sudden Danger

The sound of footsteps shattered the silence.

Phileo's head snapped up, his body instantly tense.

"Someone's here," he muttered.

Evelyne's heart pounded. "Your assassin?"

"No." Phileo's muscles coiled like a predator's. "They wouldn't be this loud."

Evelyne turned toward the entrance just as figures emerged from the darkness.

Men. Four of them. Clad in dark leather, swords drawn.

Bounty hunters.

Phileo's expression hardened.

One of the men grinned, his scarred face illuminated by the moonlight. "Looks like we found the traitor."

Phileo didn't move. "And you came to collect."

The man chuckled. "A dead man's bounty is always easier to claim."

Evelyne took a step back. They weren't here for her. They were here for him.

The scarred man lifted his sword. "Kill him."

Phileo exhaled sharply.

Then, without warning, he raised his hand—his fingers tightening around something invisible.

A sharp hum filled the air.

Evelyne barely had time to react before a scythe materialized from the shadows, forming in his grip like it had been waiting for him.

The moment it appeared, Phileo's presence shifted.

He was no longer a man standing in an abandoned chapel.

He was a killer.

The bounty hunters hesitated. The scarred man's smirk faltered. "What the hell…"

Phileo's voice was calm, steady. "You should have run when you had the chance."

The first hunter lunged.

Phileo moved faster.

In a single motion, he swung his scythe in a wide arc. The curved blade caught the first man in the chest, sending him crashing into the pews.

The others attacked.

Phileo twisted, using the long pole of the scythe to block a downward strike. Sparks flew as steel clashed against steel.

Evelyne scrambled backward, heart hammering.

Phileo ducked as another blade sliced through the air, narrowly missing his throat. He used the opening to hook his scythe around the attacker's legs and yanked.

The man collapsed, and in one fluid motion, Phileo drove the butt of his scythe into his skull.

Two down.

The remaining hunters hesitated.

Phileo's breath was steady, his grip firm. "Run," he warned.

But they didn't.

The scarred man charged.

Phileo sidestepped, his scythe spinning like a dancer's ribbon. He brought the blade down—fast, precise. The man barely had time to react before steel met flesh.

A strangled cry.

Blood sprayed across the stone floor.

The last hunter stumbled back, fear flashing in his eyes. Then, without a word, he turned and fled into the night.

Silence fell.

Evelyne pressed a hand to her chest, her heartbeat wild.

Phileo stood still, his scythe dripping red.

He exhaled slowly, then turned to Evelyne.

"We need to leave."

She didn't move.

His voice softened. "Evelyne."

She swallowed hard, staring at the fallen bodies. At the blood seeping into the cracks between the stones.

She had been chasing the past. But tonight, the past had finally caught up to her.

And it was more terrifying than she had ever imagined.