Chapter 15: Blood Never Forgets
The rain poured endlessly, washing the filth of the world into the gutters.
Evan stood at the edge of the cracked rooftop, staring down at the city that once felt like home.
Now?
Now it was just another cage.
His coat stuck to his back, drenched and heavy.
The cold bit through the fabric, but he didn't feel it.
All he could feel was the ache inside his chest — a hole that no fucking amount of time could ever fill.
He clenched his fists.
The blood caked under his nails wasn't even dry yet.
"Home," Evan muttered bitterly.
He remembered this street.
Down there was the cafe where his sister used to hang out after school.
Two blocks to the east, the library where he and his best friend would spend hours talking about stupid dreams — dreams that would never fucking happen now.
All gone.
Buried six feet deep.
Thanks to the bastards who thought ripping apart his world was just another day's work.
He could still see their faces.
Those politicians.
Those corporate snakes.
Those fake smiles, dripping with poison.
They might not have pulled the trigger themselves, but it was their hands that wrote the death warrants.
And he had every single name carved into his mind.
"One by one," Evan whispered.
His voice was raw, cracked.
"I'll make you all pay."
A gust of wind slammed into him, dragging the rain sideways.
He didn't move.
Didn't flinch.
The world could drown for all he cared.
Behind him, a presence stirred.
Heavy boots splashed against the puddles, slow and deliberate.
Evan didn't turn around.
He didn't need to.
"You followed me," he said flatly.
The man behind him — probably hired muscle, some rent-a-thug with more tattoos than brain cells — stepped closer.
Brass knuckles gleamed under the streetlights.
"You Evan Crowe?" the man barked.
Evan smiled thinly.
That old name.
He hadn't heard it in so long.
It almost felt alien now.
"Yeah," he said, finally turning.
His eyes, once warm and bright, were now nothing but dead embers.
"And you're dead."
The man sneered.
"You think you're tough, kid?"
Evan moved.
A blur.
Before the thug could even blink, Evan had driven two fingers into his throat.
A wet, choking sound gurgled from the man's lips as he staggered back, clutching his neck.
Pathetic.
Evan closed the distance with lazy steps, grabbed the man's face, and slammed his head into the rusted metal railing.
Bone cracked.
Teeth splattered across the wet concrete.
The body crumpled without ceremony.
Evan wiped his bloody hand against his coat and stared at the twitching corpse.
"They're sending amateurs," he thought coldly.
They still didn't take him seriously.
They thought he was just some grieving freak lashing out.
A broken toy.
Let them keep thinking that.
It would make the slaughter so much sweeter.
He knelt down and rifled through the thug's jacket, pulling out a crumpled note.
One name.
One address.
A smirk twisted his lips.
"Sloppy," Evan thought.
"And stupid. But thanks for the invitation."
He stood, stretching his sore limbs.
The rain continued to hammer down, but he welcomed it.
It felt like the world trying to drown him — and failing.
Pocketing the note, Evan vanished into the storm, a ghost of the man he used to be.
Tonight was just the beginning.
Blood never forgets.
And neither would he.
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