I should not have gone to that party, but my best friend Lena begged me. She said I worked too hard, needed to breathe, and was going to burn out before I even graduated law school, so I finally gave in and went. I put on a red dress, curled my hair, and spent the night smiling at rich people and shaking hands with lawyers who clearly looked down on me. It was boring, exhausting, and everything I hated about this city.

So, I stepped out the back door to get some fresh air. The alley was dark and narrow, with only a flickering lamp above a rusty dumpster providing any light. I leaned against the cold brick wall, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. The air smelled like trash and rain, but it was still better than the fake perfume and expensive champagne inside.

That was when I heard the first gunshot.

Bang.

My eyes snapped open and my heart stopped. I pressed my back flat against the wall, held my breath, and did not move. I did not even blink. I just listened.

Two men stood at the end of the alley. One of them was on his knees with his hands tied behind his back and his face covered in blood. The other man held a silver gun to his head, and the weapon glinted under the weak light.

"Please," the kneeling man begged, his voice shaking as tears ran down his cheeks. "I gave you everything. I told you where the money was. I told you everything I knew. Please, I have a family."

The man with the gun laughed, and it was a cold, empty sound. "You talked too much,

Marco. You know the rules and you know what happens to people who talk."

"No. No, wait. Please. Tell Damon I—" Bang.

The bullet went through his skull and he dropped to the ground like a sack of rocks. His body twitched once, then stopped, and thick, dark blood pooled around his head and spread across the wet concrete.

I wanted to scream and I wanted to run, but my legs would not move. I was frozen and trapped, my brain screaming at me to run, but my body refused to listen. I was paralysed, watching a man die right in front of me.

Then the killer turned around. He was huge with broad shoulders and a dark suit, and his face was half hidden in shadow. But I saw his jaw, sharp like a knife, and his eyes, dark, cold, and empty, like he had killed a hundred men before this one.

He looked straight at me.

I gasped.

He saw me.

He started walking toward me slowly and calmly, like he had all the time in the world and I was already dead just another body to add to his count.

My legs finally woke up and I turned and ran. My heels clicked loudly on the wet concrete, so I kicked them off and ran barefoot through the dark alley. The gravel cut my feet and sharp rocks dug into my skin, but I did not care. I just ran.

I turned one corner, then another, my lungs burning and my chest aching until I finally reached the main street where cars were passing. Normal people, normal life, they had no idea what I had just seen.

I looked back.

He was not there.

I leaned against a lamp post and panted, my chest heaving and my dress torn at the hem. My feet were bleeding and my hands were shaking, but I was alive.

I looked at my trembling hands and saw blood on my dress, not mine, but the dead man's blood that had splattered on me when he fell. It was still wet and warm.

The dead man had said something before he died. Right before the killer shot him, he said, "Tell Damon I—" and then he looked right at me with glassy eyes. His lips moved and he whispered something just for me.

"Marcus Hart… left you the key." My father's name. Marcus Hart.

My father who disappeared ten years ago, who left me and my mother without a single word, and the father I had stopped crying over a long time ago. The father I had convinced myself was dead.

Why did a dying man say his name? And why did he say it to me?

I pulled out my phone, but my fingers were shaking too much to dial. I tried to call the police and pressed the number, but before I could press call, I saw something in the reflection of the phone screen. A black car parked across the street with its engine running, waiting.

I looked up. The windows were tinted so dark I could not see inside, but I felt it. Someone was watching me. Someone was waiting for me.

I turned and walked as fast as I could without looking back. I did not call the police; I just walked until my feet bled and I could not breathe.

But deep in my gut, I knew something. My normal life was over, and the man in that car, the one who had just killed someone in cold blood, he was not done with me yet.