The Truth About the Ledger

The alley smelled of gunpowder and blood. The air was thick with the metallic scent, mixing with the distant wail of sirens approaching from the main road. Ethan crouched over the dying assassin, his grip tight around the man's collar, pulling him up just enough so their eyes met.

"Who sent you?" Ethan's voice was cold, sharp as a blade.

The assassin choked, a wet, ragged sound as blood bubbled from his lips. The bullet wound in his gut was fatal—he wasn't going to make it. But Ethan knew men like this. Trained killers didn't die easily. Not without trying to take something with them.

The man coughed, eyes dark with something unreadable. Not fear. Resignation.

"You don't… stop it," the assassin gasped. "The book… it writes what's already decided."

Ethan tightened his grip. "Who decides?"

A twisted, bloody smile. "Not you."

Ethan pressed his forearm against the man's throat, cutting off what little air he had left. "Names appear in the ledger for a reason. Who's choosing them?"

The assassin's smile didn't waver. If anything, it grew weaker, like a candle flickering in its final moments. He wasn't stalling—he was accepting it.

"No one… remembers them." His voice was barely a whisper now. "No graves. No history. They just… disappear."

Ethan's stomach tightened. He eased the pressure slightly. "What do you mean disappear?"

The assassin coughed again, more blood staining his lips. His eyes grew unfocused, staring past Ethan now, like he was seeing something else. Something beyond this alley, beyond this moment.

"The last one… who tried…"

A shuddering breath. His body stiffened, then went slack.

Ethan cursed under his breath and let him go, his head hitting the pavement with a dull thud. He stared down at the corpse, the man's last words looping in his mind.

No one remembers them.

He stood, stepping back, his pulse steady but his mind racing. He'd been in this life long enough to recognize an orchestrated operation. He'd seen cover-ups, assassinations, bodies buried so deep that even whispers of them faded into obscurity.

But this? This was something else.

People marked by the ledger weren't just being killed. They were being erased.

Sloane leaned against the hood of a stolen sedan, pressing a torn piece of cloth to his bleeding arm. "You're a real pain in the ass, Cross."

Ethan ignored him, sliding into the driver's seat. "We need to move before the cops get here."

Sloane grunted as he climbed in, wincing as he pulled the door shut. "You get anything out of him?"

Ethan started the engine. "Yeah. The ledger's not just a kill list. It's a damn delete button."

Sloane turned to him, expression unreadable. "Meaning?"

Ethan gripped the wheel tighter. "It's not just about killing people. It's about making sure they never existed."

Sloane exhaled through his nose. "Well, that's a whole new level of messed up."

Ethan drove, weaving through side streets to put distance between them and the crime scene. His mind was already breaking things down, fitting pieces together. If the ledger erased people completely, that meant there was infrastructure behind it. Resources. Someone controlling the flow of information, scrubbing records, silencing loose ends.

It wasn't just a book. It was an operation.

Sloane shifted beside him. "You planning on telling me where we're going?"

"We need answers," Ethan said. "And I know where to start."

They ended up at a safe house on the outskirts of town, an old storage unit that Sloane had outfitted years ago with the bare essentials—clean weapons, burner phones, cash. It wasn't much, but it was secure.

Ethan sat at a metal table in the center of the room, the ledger in front of him. He stared at it for a long time before finally opening it again.

His name was still there.

ETHAN CROSS.

Not Daniel Reed. Ethan Cross.

It meant whoever was behind this didn't just know where he was now. They knew who he had been.

Sloane watched from across the room, arms folded. "You thinking of running?"

Ethan didn't answer right away. He considered it—for exactly three seconds.

Then he shook his head. "No."

Sloane let out a dry chuckle. "Of course not. That'd be too easy."

Ethan flipped the pages, scanning the names. "The assassin said something before he died. He said the last person who tried to fight the ledger was wiped out. Not just killed. Completely erased."

Sloane's smirk faded. "Shit."

Ethan tapped a finger on the page. "That means someone else fought back. Someone who knew more than I do."

Sloane's gaze darkened. "And if they got erased, how do you plan on finding them?"

Ethan met his eyes. "I start with whoever erased them."

Sloane let out a slow breath, rubbing his jaw. "You sure you want to do this?"

"No." Ethan closed the ledger. "But I'm doing it anyway."

For five years, he had lived as Daniel Reed. An accountant. A man with no past, no trail, no ties.

But the ledger had found him.

And now, he was done hiding.

Somewhere across the city, a man in a darkened office watched the events unfold on a screen.

He took a slow sip of his drink, fingers tapping lightly against the glass as he observed Ethan Cross in real time.

The ledger was working as expected. Adjusting. Reacting.

But there was something different this time.

Ethan hadn't run. He had turned around and started hunting instead.

The man smiled faintly. This was going to be interesting.

He reached for his phone and dialed a number. The call was answered on the first ring.

"He's moving."

The voice on the other end was calm. "Should we intervene?"

A pause. Then—

"Not yet. Let's see how far he gets."