Chapter One: The Game
The house always changed when Damon Cael came home.
It got quieter, tighter. Like the walls were holding their breath.
Seven-year-old Nuria Cael sat at the dinner table, tapping her spoon on her bowl of lukewarm porridge. Her mother, Mirelle, stirred a pot at the stove, eyes flicking to the door every few seconds, like it might lunge at them if they weren't watching.
The air smelled of onions and something faintly metallic. Mirelle had tried her best to clean up today. The floor was swept, the broken window covered with an old towel, the bruises on her face hidden beneath careful makeup.
But none of it mattered when the door slammed open.
Damon stepped inside, his boots thudding like punches. He dropped a duffel bag with a heavy thud, and the weight of him filled the room before he even spoke.
"Just here to grab some things," he muttered, brushing past Mirelle. "Got work tonight."
She didn't ask what kind of work. She never did.
He sat down with a groan, grabbing the plate she'd left for him and eating like it offended him. His fork scraped loud against the plate. The tension pressed in tighter.
Nuria tried to smile. "Daddy, guess what? I drew a big castle today, with towers and a rainbow-"
"Do you ever shut up?" he snapped, not even looking up.
She flinched, words shrinking back into her throat.
Then, suddenly, he looked at her. Something sharp lit behind his eyes.
"You wanna come with me tonight?"
Mirelle froze. "No."
He leaned back. "They got games. She wants to play, don't you, princess?"
"Games?" Nuria asked, hesitant but hopeful. "Like hide and seek?"
Mirelle took a step forward. "She's not going. Damon, she's-"
He stood up so fast the chair tipped back.
The slap cracked like lightning.
Mirelle hit the counter and slid to the floor. Blood bloomed on her lip, again. Her hand trembled against the tile.
"I said she's coming."
He grabbed Nuria's arm. She didn't struggle. She was too stunned. She only looked at her mother, who shook her head, tears filling her eyes.
Nuria had thought maybe this was the start of something good but seeing her mom being slapped, makes her little mind wonder if it was so.
---
The truck was full of men with sharp voices and sharper weapons.
Nuria sat wedged between two strangers, her legs too short to reach the floor. Nobody smiled. Nobody talked to her.
One man muttered, "Why the hell is there a kid here?"
Damon answered with just a glare, and silence followed.
She tried to peer out the window, but the night had swallowed the world. The truck bounced on a dirt road until finally, they stopped in front of a huge house. Stone walls, black gates, lights glowing dim behind tall windows.
It looked like a castle from her drawings.
"Stay close," Damon said. "Put this on."
He shoved a black cloth into her hands. A mask. It smelled sour and made her stomach twist.
Another man complained, "Boss ain't gonna like this-she's too young."
"She's mine," Damon growled. "She stays."
Then the noise began.
A boom that shook the world.
Shouting. Screams.
Gunshots that cracked the sky open.
Nuria ducked down, arms over her head. Her ears rang. Her chest felt too small to hold her fear.
They ran. Damon pulled her by the wrist through the yard. When she couldn't keep up, he let go. Just dropped her in the middle of everything.
She crawled behind a bush and stayed small.
The ground trembled with footsteps. Men ran past her. Somewhere far away, someone cried for help. Glass shattered. Fire flickered in a window.
She stayed there, shaking, until everything went too quiet.
Then she stood and followed the trail-smeared footprints, splashes of red, a door left swinging open.
---
Inside, the castle was broken.
Tables overturned. Curtains torn. Walls painted with chaos.
She found her father in a big room with velvet chairs and golden lights that flickered like candles.
Three people knelt on the floor.
A man. A woman. A teenage boy, blood on his face, pressed against the wall like he was trying to disappear into it.
"Boss says you're done, Ilan," Damon said, his voice too calm. "Wants a message sent."
The woman-Selin, though Nuria didn't know her name-sobbed quietly. The boy's eyes were dazed, hollow. The father, Ilan, stared at Damon like he already knew what was coming.
Nuria watched from the edge of the room. She wanted to run to her father, to ask what game this was, but something kept her still.
Then the others moved. Took the woman away to the other side close to where the man named Ilan knelt and they took the boy next.
Nuria didn't see everything. Not clearly.
She only saw the father's face crumple in a way that made her chest ache.
When suddenly one of her father's men took her hand and forced her out of the room, she struggled to get out of his grip but to no avail .
Only heard sounds she couldn't understand, like glass shattering over and over again inside her ears.
Only smelled the iron in the air getting thicker.
Somehow she was able to get out of the strange man's grip and run into the room .
What she saw shocked the life almost out of her little body and by the time her legs unfroze, her father was alone with Ilan, standing over him like a shadow.
Nuria ran towards her dad, taking off the mask she had put on her head as it was getting uncomfortable.
"Daddy! One of your friends sent me outside and I got scared. I don't wanna play anymore. I wanna go home!", she said as she tagged at his trousers.
He looked down at her.
And smiled.
It made her want to cry.
"You're right on time, sweetheart."
He knelt beside her, pressed something cold and heavy into her hands.
A small gun.
Her heart thudded in her ears.
"I don't want to-" she whispered.
He leaned in. "If you don't, your mother's gonna pay for it. Right now. Your choice."
She looked down at the weapon. Her hands shook. Her throat burned.
He lifted her arm like it was his own. Walked her forward. The man on the ground didn't even react anymore. His eyes were empty.
"This is my daughter, Nuria" Damon said to the room. "She finishes the job."
Something inside her broke.
A shot rang out.
She wasn't sure whose hand pulled the trigger.
Another shot followed. Then voices shouting from outside.
Flashlights. Dogs. Sirens.
Strong arms picked her up. Someone was yelling, "Move, move, MOVE!"
They ran. Out through the back. Through smoke and trees and screaming.
No one noticed the quiet shape curled beneath the shattered table in the big room.
A boy.
Small.
Still.
Not dead. Not gone. Just waiting.
Eyes wide and wet.
A ghost hiding in plain sight.
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