Into the Dread

"Some men walk into the dark to kill what's inside. Others walk in because they know the dark has been waiting for them."

They stepped out of the safehouse into the sharp air of twilight.

Two matte-black vans idled nearby. No emblems. No noise. Just quiet engines and eyes behind glass.

Victor's private security detail stood waiting—twelve men, all armored and armed. Their weapons had the dull gleam of recent anointing. Their chest plates bore faint, flickering sigils—the kind that didn't belong to any known alphabet.

Lucas scanned them. A quiet sweep of the eyes. Just a glance.

Lucas met Victor's eyes. A nod. Measured. Done.

Like a mix of great work, and thanks for your help.

Jack's eyes flicked across the formation, his grin tilting just enough to be felt.

"Not bad," he muttered. "Not bad at all. You finally joined the cursed militia club."

Victor didn't respond. He just watched Lucas.

Lucas turned to Jack. "Stay here."

Jack raised a brow. "What for?"

"I'll get rid of her," Lucas said. "Then you can finish the job. Heal him, make sure he is as human as he can, after going through all of this."

Jack leaned back slightly, crossing his arms. "You sure you don't want backup? Might get lonely in there."

Lucas's voice was already walking away.

"No."

He reached the door to the holding room.

Inside, Caleb Cross waited. Still bound. Still burning with what he couldn't name.

But not for long.

Jack didn't move from the spot.

Lucas was already halfway to the car when Jack called after him, voice smug and sharp.

"This can't happen like that."

Lucas didn't stop.

Jack stepped forward, brushing invisible dust from his sleeves. "What kind of friend do you take me for? I'm not staying behind while you march in and face her alone."

Lucas opened the car door.

Jack grinned wide, his boots clicking as he walked past the soldiers. "Besides… I've heard the stories. The ones that sound too sharp to be myths. I'm not missing the chance to see it happen live."

He slipped into the passenger seat like it was always meant for him.

"I want to witness the legend being born," Jack thought, buckling in like it was a joyride.

Behind them, Victor raised a brow—caught between confusion and concern.

One of the soldiers leaned to another, voice low.

"…are we going for a picnic?"

The other didn't answer. Just checked his blessed sidearm and said a silent prayer.

Because deep down, they all knew—

This wasn't a picnic.

It was the walk to the gallows.

Only, they weren't sure who the rope was meant for.

—

Lucas slid into the driver's seat. Jack was already in the passenger side, legs crossed like they weren't driving into hell.

They didn't speak. No need.

Varos, wrists still bound, was shoved into the backseat like a prisoner being chauffeured to his execution—or his mistress.

Lucas started the engine.

The Charger growled low. Hungry.

Behind them, the two black vans revved in sync—Victor's men, weapons primed, armor faintly gleaming with the last light of day. Each of them marked with the spell-water Jack had handed over. None of them knew if it would be enough.

The convoy rolled forward.

Metal on concrete.

Rubber on fate.

They drove into the night.

The road ahead didn't promise survival.

It just promised answers.

And blood.

—

The Charger cut through the road like it owed the night something.

Beyond the reach of the city now, they entered the woods—no signs, no maps, no markers. Just wet asphalt swallowed by the creeping dark. Trees pressed in from both sides, too quiet. The kind of quiet that forgets what it means to be alive.

The Veil wasn't visible yet.

But you could feel it.

Like a mouth closed behind teeth.

Jack sat beside Lucas. His eyes occasionally flicked to the windows, like he was expecting to see the forest blink.

Varos's breathing was off, like he could already smell the goddamn Veil.

It had been nearly an hour since they left the safehouse. Half the journey done. The convoy of black vans followed at a deliberate distance behind them—silent shadows with blessed weapons and nervous hearts.

Lucas said nothing.

The wheel didn't tremble. Neither did he. His fingers tapped the wheel. Not nervous, but like he was counting something invisible.

Then Jack shifted. Reached into the inner pocket of his coat like he was drawing a relic.

But no.

Not dred.

Foil.

He unwrapped it with slow care—paper peeled back like reverence. The scent hit like heresy filled the car like a desecration.

A burger.

Lucas turned slightly, one brow raised—more judgment than curiosity.

Jack took a bite, exaggerated his chewing, and moaned like it was divine.

Lucas finally spoke, voice dry as dust.

"So that's why you were late?"

"What?" Jack said around a mouthful. "I probably won't get a chance to eat at the right time, so I brought supplies."

Lucas glanced at him, slow as a rifle cocking.

His tone landed flat. Cold.

"Wow."

One word. But it echoed.

"In all this chaos… you're still stuffing your face."

Jack grinned. "Please. A man's gotta eat. Jeez. Ain't no rule that says you gotta face death on an empty stomach."

Lucas stared ahead again, unmoved.

"Fine."

Jack chewed, swallowed, then leaned back with a satisfied sigh. "You know, Cain… lotta people think you're all shadow and darkness, but you're just a man who judges burgers in a moving coffin."

Lucas didn't answer. But the next corner, he took sharper than necessary.

Jack grinned. "Right. Touched a nerve."

He reached into the other side of his coat—like a magician pulling a rabbit from nowhere—and unwrapped another burger.

He extended it toward Lucas. "You want one?"

Lucas didn't answer at first. Just looked at it like it was some alien artifact.

Jack added, voice softer this time, "C'mon. Might be a long night. No telling when we eat next. Take it."

Lucas took the burger. No nod. No thanks. Just the same silent calculation he gave loaded guns.

Jack held his own burger toward him like a toast.

"Cheers," Jack said.

A grin split his face.

Lucas just gave him a look.

Not angry. Not amused.

The look.

The one that said I'm letting you speak. For now.

Jack's grin stalled.

He cleared his throat. "Alright, alright."

They ate in silence. Still driving towards trouble.

The woods thickened around them.

And somewhere far ahead, the Veil stirred—like it, too, had just opened its mouth.

End of Chapter 28.