“Revenge is hollow and insatiable. It never satisfies; it never heals. It leaves us remorseful or hungry for more.” - Wayne Gerard Trotman

  * * * *

  The air in Ashenridge carried a lingering silence, heavy and thick like the residue of smoke after a fire, something that hadn’t quite left since the world fell apart.

  Once a ruin buried beneath the weight of Project Nona’s shadow, Ashenridge had become a fragile sanctuary for the displaced, the hunted, and the broken. At its center tonight burned a modest campfire, its orange glow flickering against the high, craggy walls of what was once Zone 0’s outer perimeter.

  The fire’s warmth was meagre, and almost symbolic—a small act of defiance against the cold void that had followed the collapse of the world they once believed in.

  They sat around it in tense quiet. The former ESA agents now turned outlaws, Gifted refugees, former gang members, and leaders of groups that used to operate on opposite ends of Eldario’s war.

  Yet tonight, they were all the same: survivors. Mourners. Witnesses to a nation’s unravelling.

  Lucas Alescio stood off to the side, the flames casting a gold-red hue across the sharp contours of his face, painting shadows under his tired, onyx eyes. His arms were folded, but his shoulders shook faintly, his jaw clenched so hard it trembled.

  He hadn’t said a word in nearly an hour, not since the makeshift memorial they had all conducted for the fallen.

  Tiara. Claudia. Ness. All the agents at ESA headquarters. All the civilians in the Council building. People with families, names, and lives—gone in a breath, reduced to nothing by the hunters’ unholy purge.

  Across from him, Zest leaned against one of the rusted metal support pillars that formed part of Zone 0’s southern gate, his red eyes narrowed, half-lidded, exuding the usual unreadable calm that had begun to grate on Lucas’s nerves for days.

  He was always so still, so composed, like nothing ever fazed him. Not the hunters, not their deaths, and not even the loss of the world outside.

  “You’re too quiet tonight,” Rex muttered, drawing the attention of those near him. “More than usual.”

  Around the fire, heads slowly turned. Sera, her arms loosely crossed and eyes lowered, her silhouette faintly outlined by the flames; Raul and Laura beside her, both visibly on edge; Taylor leaning against a barrel, her arms looped around her knees while Elijah stared blankly into the fire, his shoulders stiff. Even Louis, usually lazy and half-dozing, sat upright, his jaw tight, his hands laced in front of him.

  Jonan didn’t speak, but the way his fingers kept fidgeting with the pouches on his belt told everyone enough. Allen’s red eyes darted between Lucas and Zest, anxiety rolling off him in waves.

  It was Lucas who finally broke the silence.

  “We have to do something,” he said, his voice low at first, strained, like a muscle torn at the root. Then louder, “We can’t just sit here. They killed everyone. The people have to know the truth!”

  Sera looked up slowly, her voice quiet. “They all know the truth,” she sighed. “They either didn’t want to admit it, because they’re scared and just afraid they’ll be the next ones targeted, or they truly do believe the hunters’ lies. Right now, it’s the hunters who are controlling the media and narrative. Yes, rumours are spreading. But it sounds so ridiculous that I’ll be surprised if anyone believes it. Tell me, one year ago, if someone told you the hunters blew up ESA HQ as well as the Council, would you believe it?”

  Lucas’s fists clenched. “I’m having trouble believing it even now,” he admitted. “But it happened! And people are going to keep dying unless we make them see the truth! We have to do something!” he exploded, his voice cracking from the rawness in it. “We have to!”

  Zest straightened, slowly pushing off the support pillar. “And what do you plan on doing?” His tone was lazy, but that sharpness lurked beneath it, like a blade sheathed in honey. “Pray tell, what do you think we’ve been doing for the last five years? Sitting on our thumbs?”

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  Aegis collectively winced. That was the voice. The one Zest only used when he was done pretending to be polite.

  Lucas took a step forward. “Don’t mock me.”

  “Then don’t insult the work of the people standing in this circle,” Zest said sharply, standing upright now. “You think you’re the only one grieving? That you’re the only one who’s lost people? The rest of us didn’t just watch this happen. We lived it. Survived it. We fought it before it became fashionable to resist.”

  The rain hadn’t yet started, but the wind had picked up.

  Lucas’s voice rose again, cracked and venomous. “They killed the director! Everyone at HQ! Everyone at the Council! And the world just moved on! Like they were never there! We have to do something!”

  “The only thing you’ll be ‘doing’ right now if you even show your face in front of the hunters,” Zest cut in coldly, “is getting executed. Or maybe you’ll be made an example—your charred body strung up for all the other Gifted to see. Haven’t the last twelve months made it obvious to you? All you’ll be doing is dying like a damn idiot. And it might sound cruel, Alescio, but revenge and vengeance? They have no place right now.”

  That was the last straw.

  Lucas’s anger ignited like the fire within him. Without warning, he lunged.

  The first punch was fast and reckless, driven not by strategy but grief. Zest dodged it with almost lazy ease, his body weaving away with casual precision, as if Lucas’s fist had been moving in slow motion.

  But Lucas wasn’t done.

  Frustration surged in his chest like molten lava. The fact that he missed only tripled the fury raging through him. He closed the gap between them with barely restrained rage and began using Zest’s chest as a punching bag, fists slamming again and again, even as pain shot through his knuckles.

  Each grunt of pain Zest gave—muted, gritted, and strained, brought Lucas some twisted relief. Some proof that his grief could land, could hurt something. Something that wasn’t just his own damn heart.

  The former ESA agents started, some standing as though to intervene, but a single motion from Sera stopped them.

  “Let them have at it,” she murmured.

  Heads turned.

  Aegis didn’t move either. Not Raul. Not Tatius. Not even Laura.

  “It’s been a long time coming,” Sera continued, her eyes never leaving the two figures locked in conflict. “I don’t claim to know what the hell Lucas is thinking, but it always seems to me that he has some kind of inferiority complex toward Zest.”

  Misha winced, exchanging looks with Louis. They know the reason why.

  Lucas swung again. This time Zest caught his wrist.

  Enough.

  Zest’s other fist struck out. The sound was loud—solid flesh meeting bone, and Lucas stumbled back, nearly losing his footing. But Zest didn’t let him fall. He drove forward, pinning Lucas with a foot on his chest and forcing him to the ground.

  “Do not get up, Alescio,” he said, his voice tight with restrained fury. “Because I’m going to tell you some truths that you should have heard a long time ago.”

  Lucas’s breath came in heavy pants, blood dribbling from a split lip.

  “You broke into Kald, and got held captive for nearly a month,” Zest continued, “so no doubt you know who or what your father is. And yet, some part of you still believes he was a good man. A hero, even.”

  There were growls now. Tatius swore under his breath. Raul looked away, his jaw clenched. Laura’s face darkened.

  Zest leaned lower. “What kind of fantasy are you living in?”

  Lucas’s eyes widened. He knew what was coming, and he wanted to run from it, but there was nowhere to run. Not anymore.

  “You still believe in good and evil, in justice?” Zest asked. “Justice doesn’t exist in Eldario. Not for people like us. And your father? I knew Gene Alescio. When I was a child, before I ever escaped the hit squad they tried to make me part of, he trained us. He trained the assassins. The child soldiers. He was everything Nicolosi is: cold, calculative, and cunning.”

  Lucas whimpered through gritted teeth.

  “If you and Misha weren’t Gifted, he would have turned you both into hunters. There are families bred for it. Bloodlines. Gene was no different. He killed Gifted not because he had to, but because they existed. And not just Gifted. He even targeted Normals that were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, or were in the way of the hunters. Gene Alescio was a murderer. Ask Sera. She’ll tell you the same thing.”

  Lucas could feel his composure fracturing. Around him, the others were quiet, but their silence was heavy.

  “I don’t regret his death,” Zest said flatly. “Not even a little. I celebrated it when I heard. And I’ll bet he only changed his tune about the Gifted the moment you and your brother turned out to be the things he spent his whole life hunting.”

  Around the circle, murmurs of agreement surfaced. Quiet nods. Painful glances. The truth of it stung everyone.

  Lucas tried to rise, only to find Zest’s hand shoving him back down, one palm to his neck. “I hope you got it out of your system,” Zest hissed. “Because the next time, I won’t stop.” He stood and turned. “Someone get him to the infirmary.”

  The rain began then. Everyone scattered beneath makeshift covers, but Lucas lay still in the mud, staring up at the weeping sky.

  He had known about his father being a former hunter for at least a few months now. Had known that the underground and even the Gifted community loathes him. It is the same reason why no gang in the underworld would take Lucas and Misha in when they were children after their parents passed.

  But to hear it spoken like that from one of his father’s victims—no, his former student, rankled at Lucas. Was this how everyone felt here? Why then, did they bring him here? Do they blame him for his father’s sins?

  Sera approached him alone, rain soaking her hair, clinging to the strands that framed her unreadable face. “You’re a moron,” she said, crouching beside him. “Going against Zest like that. Surely you knew you couldn’t win?”

  Lucas couldn’t look at her. “…Do you know?” he croaked.

  “About your father?” Sera’s voice softened, but didn’t falter. “I doubt there are many in the underground who don’t. He made life hell for us. Lead the hunts against the Gifted. Made it impossible for us to get jobs, homes, and even safety. He probably quit the hunter life only because of you and Misha. But even then, no one trusts the Alescio name.”

  “So you knew…from the beginning?”

  “I recognised your last name,” Sera admitted. “But that’s not why I wouldn’t—” She hesitated. “We think too differently. You wouldn’t be happy with me.”

  Lucas closed his eyes. Rain soaked his eyelashes.

  “Your father’s death,” Sera said after a pause. “The accident? It probably wasn’t one. Someone staged it. One of the Gifted. Or maybe the underground. Hell, I wouldn’t put it past Nicolosi to be responsible, either. Gene Alescio had enemies, Lucas. Too many to count. So when word got out that he was gone… Honestly? A lot of people celebrated.”

  Sera stood up, her voice cold and final. “Get out of the rain, Lucas. Go wash up. And cool your head. You fly off the handle like this again, and there’ll be nothing I can do for you. Especially not here, where most of the people around you lost everything to people like your father. And you defending him? It doesn’t look good.”

  Sera walked away, leaving Lucas crumpled in the rain and mud, alone with his grief and the ghosts of a legacy he never asked for.