Right Hand Man

"Even those born of the dark feared being in it for too long."

The room was black. Pitch dark. The kind of dark that didn't feel like absence, it felt like a decision.

Varos sat, hands bolted to a chair, his breath shallow, pulse racing in his ears. The darkness crept into him, stretched across his ribs, settled in his bones. He didn't know how long he'd been here. Hours? Days? The silence didn't tell him. But the noises did.

Scratches. Whispers. Footsteps that stopped just before they reached him.

He wasn't alone.

The door groaned open, a crack of harsh light slicing through the black.

Varos blinked against it. For a heartbeat, hope flared. Hope that maybe—this time—it wasn't him.

Then Lucas Cain walked in.

And the hope strangled in his throat, thick and sharp, like he'd tried to swallow glass.

A faint metallic tang hung in the air—a cold, sharp scent that never left, clinging to the back of his throat, like rusted iron scraped against glass.

Then briefly reference it again later:

The metallic tang sharpened when Lucas rose, like the room itself exhaled through iron teeth.

'Why is he here again?'

Varos had seen the rumors. Had seen the bodies Cain left behind in the alley. People whispered about him like he was a ghost. Like saying his name too loud would summon him.

Lucas moved without urgency. Calm. Heavy. A predator that had already killed too many to rush anymore.

He pulled a chair across from Varos and sat.

Varos grunted, forcing bravado into his cracked voice. "So the great Lucas Cain finally shows his face again. Guess even you can't resist coming back when I call your name."

He licked his dry lips, glancing toward the side of the dark room. "I keep hearing noises. Who else have you locked in here?"

Lucas's gaze didn't shift. His voice cut clean. "The one I asked for."

Time wasn't on his side. Vanessa was moving faster than expected, and Lucas could feel the city tightening its grip like a clock winding toward something it wouldn't survive.

A beat of silence.

"Where is Vanessa Rider?"

The name detonated inside Varos's skull. His body stiffened. His throat dried. He didn't know Cain knew her name.

'How does he know? Why does he know? Why the fuck does he know?'

His pulse roared. 'Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.'

Lucas leaned in, just enough to make the room feel smaller. "Don't forget, I won't ask twice."

Varos swallowed, mind scrambling. "Yeah… yeah, I know. But this time, Cain, I'm not giving you shit for free."

Lucas didn't blink.

"I'll tell you where she is—but you're letting me walk. I give you the location. You let me go. Right here. Right now. Deal?"

Lucas's silence pressed in.

Varos forced a grin. "Cain, you've cleaned out worse dens for less. Besides, in our world… everything has a price."

Lucas's gaze stayed cold. "The last man who made a deal with me never made another."

Varos's grin faltered. "You think I scare easy? You've never met my kind."

Lucas didn't move. Didn't agree. Didn't refuse. He simply let the silence wrap around them like a noose.

Varos cracked first.

"She's in a place called The Bastion Veil. Old fortress repurposed into a safehold. Houses Nightsworn, Marked, even some old syndicate defectors, all her kin. Built underground. Hidden. Accessible through the drainage tunnels beneath the South Docks."

"The Bastion Veil… it's not on any map. Even ghosts get lost down there. Some say it's built on the bones of something that never finished dying."

His breathing sped up. "People say the place can't be touched. Too many entrances. Too many guards. She's got an army in there."

Lucas's voice was low, sharp. "She'll need one."

Varos laughed nervously, trying to peel the tension from his ribs. "That's the trade, Cain. I give you that—you walk me out."

Lucas rose from the chair.

Walked toward the door.

Varos's pulse kicked. "Wait—you said—"

Lucas paused at the threshold. "I said I won't ask twice. I didn't say I'd let you walk."

"Wait—Cain—wait! Shit!" The words clawed out, louder, faster. He kicked at the floor, chair legs scraping violently. "You can't leave me here! You can't—"

The door closed.

The room swallowed Varos again. His own breathing ricocheted off the stone walls, the only heartbeat left in the dark.

And in the black, the whispers returned.

This time—they answered back.

His breath hitched. Sweat slicked his palms, cold and stinging. His jaw clenched until it ached, but the tremble in his legs betrayed him. He was unraveling, and the dark could taste it.

Even the born of the dark feared being too long in it.

End of Chapter 15.