Chapter 9 – The Scarred Man

The wind howled down the eastern docks, carrying salt and rust and the smell of secrets too old to rot. Selene stepped off the ferry in a long gray coat, the hem fluttering like a whispered warning. The night was damp, the fog thick. Perfect for ghosts.

She followed the coordinates Aria had given her—an abandoned watchtower turned squatters' den on the edge of the shipping district. No lights. No guards. But she felt eyes watching her.

Good, she thought. Let him see me coming.

Inside, the structure was crumbling concrete, warped metal, and the smell of old oil. Graffiti on the walls, stairs with missing teeth, and broken radios stacked like a shrine to silence. At the top of the tower, someone had fashioned a makeshift room—mattress, maps, weapons in a tidy case, and a steaming cup of tea still breathing.

She was expected.

Selene waited.

The silence cracked.

"I wondered how long it would take you to find me."

The voice was quiet. Crisp. Male.

She turned. Calder Vaughn stepped out from behind a rusted pillar.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Burn marks clawing down the right side of his jaw into his collarbone. He wore a simple thermal shirt and dark slacks, no weapons visible—but Selene knew better. He was the weapon.

"Nice place," she said.

"It's home until someone kills me or I get bored."

"You never struck me as the suicidal type."

He approached slowly, studying her. "Selene Vale. Or is it Virelli now? Hard to keep up with your reinventions."

"You kept the scar."

"You gave it to me."

She tilted her head. "I spared your life."

"And left me in a burning facility with a shattered leg and a dead partner."

"Better than a bullet in the head."

He chuckled, bitter and low. "You always had a talent for mercy with teeth."

Selene's eyes flicked toward the maps pinned on the wall. Cargo routes. Harrow's supply chains. Chemical shipments. Intel he shouldn't have.

"You've been watching him."

"I've been waiting," Calder said.

"For what?"

"For someone reckless enough to do what I can't anymore."

Selene took a step forward. "Then we're finally aligned."

"Are we?" His voice hardened. "Because the last time I followed you, twenty people didn't make it out. Including the one person I gave a damn about."

Silence stretched between them.

Selene didn't blink. "And the last time I trusted a partner, they handed my sister over to the men who built Harrow's empire."

Calder's jaw tightened.

"Tell me what you want," he said finally.

"I want Victor Harrow to fall. Not just publicly. I want him ruined from the inside out. No headlines. No courtrooms. I want him to know exactly what he destroyed before I end him."

Calder studied her for a long moment.

Then, to her surprise, he nodded once.

"I can get you into his private server. He's building something off-grid—experimental compounds, test models, human variables. You need the proof before you strike."

Selene crossed her arms. "Why help me?"

"Because I've seen what happens when men like Harrow are left standing."

A moment passed. Two soldiers. Two survivors. Neither forgiving, neither forgetting.

She held out her hand.

"Partners."

He looked at it, then shook.

"For now."