Anyone watching would see a boy barely holding himself together.
Only when the bandages were in place did he allow himself a moment of stillness. Even then, he didn't relax. Not fully.
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the city, there was no such calm.
The leader of the Viper Gang sat hunched over his desk, eyes fixed on his phone. It lay there in silence, mocking him. He had been informed the moment John made his move. Since then, he'd been waiting for confirmation, casualties, survivors, anything.
But the call never came.
No updates. No frantic pleas. No reports of success.
John's supposed mentor stood nearby, arms crossed, his expression grim. The air in the room was thick with unease.
"Who the fuck did the League send for him to train?" the mentor screaming inside his own head. His voice was tight with disbelief. "No trainee should be able to wipe out a whole squad of armed men, some of them trained and walk away alive."
He had hoped John would fall.
If that had happened, it wouldn't have changed his standing with the League. They could blame John instead, recklessness, overconfidence, taking on a gang while assigned to a separate mission. Clean, convenient.
But from the reports he was hearing, that explanation seemed unlikely to work.
"I need every corner of the city brushed through and turned upside down. There is no way he went through all this unscathed. We have a picture of him, i need information, if someone wounded has been found, we could end this disaster tonight."
He heard the boss screaming into his phone before abruptly standing up, fury radiating off him.
He opened his mouth to speak.
Then he closed it.
He did know where John was. Exactly where. But how was he supposed to explain that? Any attempt to do so would immediately drag his relationship with John into the open and worse, it would brush up against the League's limits.
That alone was dangerous.
The League had already caught onto his current actions involving John. The fact that they hadn't intervened yet meant they were tolerating what was happening for now. But tolerance was not approval, and it meant he had to be careful. Very careful. One wrong move, one word spoken out of turn, and the League would decide he had crossed a line.
What the boy had done tonight was impressive. No denying that. But he couldn't keep a performance like this up forever.
All it would take was one mistake and John's life would be gone, that was what he was betting on.
Meanwhile, the gang leader Architect began walking toward a specific room. The mentor immediately realized where he was headed.
It was where they kept the female cop locked up.
They had tortured her. Not brutally enough to kill her, but enough to break her. And when she cracked, what she gave them was insufficient there was nothing for the gang to pin down, who John was. Except for the image they managed to capture during their first contact with John. John had only recently come into contact with her to gain anything.
Walking into the room, the stench hit first. Sweat, blood, and something sour hung heavy in the air. The female cop was tied up, her body slumped forward, barely held upright by the restraints.
The mentor stayed back, watching.
The boss walked toward her without hesitation, not minding the smell. He reached out and scooped her hair to the side, forcing her face upward.
Elara was lethargic. She could barely register what was happening around her. Pain clouded her thoughts, her throat burned with thirst, and her body felt distant, like it no longer belonged to her.
Then the boss spoke, his tone calm, almost gentle.
"Miss Elara," he said softly, "we might have gotten off on the wrong note. Let me make it up to you."
He raised a hand.
At once, a butler entered the room, posture rigid, eyes averted.
"Please prepare a room for Lady Elara," the boss continued. "Make sure all her needs are met and that she is returned to full health."
The butler nodded and moved quickly, loosening the ropes that bound Elara. She barely reacted as he lifted her into his arms and carried her out of the room, her head lolling weakly against his shoulder.
The mentor watched, confusion clear on his face. Once they were alone, he finally spoke.
"What's with the sudden change?" he asked. "Are you spooked?"
The Architect turned to face him, his gaze steady.
"I am indeed spooked," he said calmly. "I may have offended someone I should not have."
He paused, then continued.
"But it is not all bad. I now possess something somewhat important to our ghost."
The mentor stiffened slightly as the Architect went on.
"I should treasure her and keep her safe, especially if the ghost proves to be more trouble than he's worth."
He gestured vaguely toward the door Elara had been taken through.
"I would propose peace with him," the Architect said. "The officer in return. We may even gain a new ally. And if we dealt with him before then…" A faint smile tugged at his lips. "I lose nothing. Only a few kindnesses to a cop and perhaps a new addition to our ranks."
The mentor's expression darkened, doubt written plainly across his face.
The Architect noticed. He shook his head slowly.
"In this business of mine, no enemies are long-lasting," he said. "Profit can solve many things. And if I remember correctly, Ghost initially wanted to work together."
He turned away, already walking toward the exit.
"I am sure," the Architect added, his voice echoing faintly as he left the room, "that there is something to be done about this ghost."
The mentor stood there for a long while after the Architect had left. His thoughts drifted back to the first time he had seen the boy, back to John's eyes. There had been something in them then, "Annoyance" When the boy woke in a whole new place, he wasn't disturbed or scared, only annoyed.
He doubted the boy would play the kind of game the gang leader believed he would. Not the way others did. Not the way the Architect expected.
That doubt lingered.
Meanwhile, on the police side of the city, Thorne's patrol car was among the first to arrive at the crime scene. He barely had time to shut the door before breaking into a run, pushing past the perimeter and into the compound.
What greeted him made his stomach drop.
Dead bodies. Scattered guns. Bullet holes carved into walls, doors, vehicles, everywhere. The damage alone told him this hadn't been a small exchange. Whatever had taken place here had been violent, overwhelming, and fast.
Thorne hadn't slept well for days.
Ever since he'd handed Ghost the information he needed, he'd been waiting, watching for the impact to come. He knew there would be consequences. He just hadn't expected it would come so unexpected.
Now, staring at the carnage, Thorne understood something grim.
This wasn't something he could cover up.
This was only the first night. Only the first of many hideouts he had given to John. There would be more. More raids. More bodies piling up. And sooner or later, the truth would surface.
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