The rain blurred the edges of the dockyard, turning steel into shadow and blood into water.
Caden moved first—fast, arrogant, precise. His fist cracked against my ribs, right where the stitches pulled. Pain exploded through my side, but I didn’t fall. I pivoted, ducked, and drove my elbow into his ribs with brutal precision. Caden staggered, coughing. This is for the child I’ll never hold.
"You’re slower than I rember," he taunted, circling like a predator. "Bleeding already?"
The taunt fueled a cold fury that eclipsed the physical pain. Slower, perhaps, but not weaker. My breath hitched as I saw an opening, a fractional mont where his guard dipped as he tried to land another blow. I lunged, not with a clumsy swing, but with a calculated strike, aiming for his solar plexus. My fist connected, a solid thud that emptied the air from his lungs. He doubled over, gasping, surprise flashing in his eyes. For Isabella, I thought, still and silent in a hospital bed.
Then, behind him, the first gunshot cracked through the storm. Muffled shouts.
"Sector three clear!" soone barked through the rain.
"Bravo reports visual on captives — multiple alive. Moving to extract." Gray’s voice echoed through the comms.
Caden’s n shifted, uncertain. One lifted a weapon toward , but a sharp, single shot cut him down. One of my sniper’s work. Always clean. Always precise.
I didn’t look back. Didn’t need to.
The chaos around us was theirs.
This was mine.
Caden, however, pushed himself upright, a grimace replacing his smirk. "I see you brought company." He spat blood onto the wet ground. "still got a little fight left in you, then?" he wheezed, his voice regaining its sneering edge.
I didn’t reply, just circled him, my senses on high alert—although, pain is tightening around my abdon like a vice. Each drip of rain was a distraction, each gust of wind a potential cover for his next move.
We lunged at the sa ti.
We collided like wreckage—flesh and fury, boots scraping against wet concrete. He landed a blow to my shoulder, and I felt sothing tear. I groaned, staggered, but I retaliated with a knee to his gut, tthen a wild, punishing hook across his jaw. He spun, spat blood, and laughed.
Another shout in the distance.
"Echo down one! Covering fire!"
Automatic bursts lit the far side of the dock. Shadows fell. Rain swallowed the sound.
The impact of my next blow cracked through the empty lot, sending him sprawling into the mud. He laughed—a wet, broken sound—as blood trickled from his lip.
"There it is," he hissed, pushing himself up. "The real you. The one Father tried to hide behind those suits and those headlines."
"You orchestrated it," I said quietly. "The leak. The ambush. You did this."
He smiled wider, teeth pink with blood. "So what if I did?"
Thunder answered for . Lightning flashed across the containers, silvering the blood between us. The rain falling plastered my hair to my forehead, stinging my eyes. It felt like a physical manifestation of the storm raging within . Caden’s words, laced with venom and a twisted sort of pride, were like fuel to the fire.
He lunged, and the world collapsed into the beat of muscle. He hit the left side of my ribs and I snarled. He tried to twist my arm and I felt the old tendon in my shoulder tear up like paper. Still, I found breath enough to aim my knee and drive it up under his chin. He stumbled. I used the stumble—hooked his head and slamd it into tal.
"So what if you did?" I echoed, my voice a low rumble I barely recognized as my own. "You killed my child," I said. The words ca out hollow, too even. "You nearly killed my wife. My mother is vegetative."
"But you," I said, my voice rising slightly, "you’re alive. You’re free to kill and destroy all you want."
His eyes glimred with madness.
"Collateral damage," he rasped. "Don’t be dramatic. Murder is just business, brother. You know that." He grinned widely "You should’ve expected that when you decided to play hero. When you took what was mine."
"What was yours?" I repeated, my voice turning sharp. "None of my people was ever yours, Caden."
"I’m not talking about those," he snapped. "I’m talking about everything else."
He stepped closer, fury unraveling what little control he had left. "The na. The company. The empire. The goddamn inheritance. You took everything that should’ve been mine. You—"
I caught him by the throat before he could finish, slamming him into the car that is behind him. The tal dented under the force. His breath hitched, boots scraping uselessly against wet concrete.
"Everything that should’ve been yours?" I echoed, my voice shaking. "You’ve had Father’s favor since birth. You had the na, the access, the attention from father. What you didn’t have was discipline."
He wheezed, grinning even as I squeezed. "I don’t give a bloody damn."
I tightened my grip, fingers digging into the soft tissues of his neck. The pulse of blood under my hand quickened, fluttering like a trapped bird. His eyes, wild and desperate, searched mine. I kept my grip tight, squeezing until his eyes bulged and his face turned an unhealthy shade of purple.
Then I felt a punch to my abdon. Again.
Pain flooded my vision. I dropped to one knee, gasping, the rain mixing with the blood on my lips. I saw my mother’s vacant eyes flash behind my eyelids. I could feel myself slipping away. But I grabbed his leg, twisted it, and dragged him down with .
We crashed to the floor—wet, filthy, reeking of rust and rain. I climbed over him and grabbed his collar, slamming him on the floor. I rained down punches—mostly at his face, mostly to keep him from speaking. For the woman who taught to fight.
One.
Two.
Three.
His nose split. His jaw snapped sideways. My knuckles split open, the blood washing clean with the rain.
He tried to block, but I was relentless.
He squird beneath , a gurgling sound escaping his throat, but there was no strength left in his struggles. My vision blurred, not from tears, but from the rain and the sheer, blinding red haze of my fury. Each punch was a ghost of a grievance, a brutal reply to every slight, damage he had done.
"Why?" I shouted, my voice raw, hoarse. "Why did you do it?"
He spat blood, laughing through broken teeth.
"Why?" I hissed between blows. "Why the attacks, the lies, the hostages? Why her? Why the fucking children?"
Another punch. "Answer , damn you—why—"
He gasped, hands up, trying to find breath in my fists. Then he roared—deep, animal—words that hit like a thrown stone.
"Because you fucking killed her!"
The words hung in the air, heavier than the rain, colder than the steel of the containers. My fists froze, hovering inches from his mangled face. The roaring stopped, replaced by ragged, desperate breaths. The rain seed to pause, a collective held breath in the downpour.
"What?" My voice was barely a whisper, a fragile thing threatening to shatter.
Caden shoved off with a burst of strength, rolling to his side, clutching his face. "You don’t even rember, do you?" he spat. "You killed her. You killed the only person who ever mattered."
"What are you talking about?"
Caden coughed, a wet, rattling sound. He struggled to et my gaze, his eyes swollen and bleeding, but there was a strange, desperate sincerity in them now. The arrogance had evaporated, leaving behind sothing hollow. "You know what I’m talking about," he snarled, voice raw. "You rember Sophia? You rember her, little crown-prince? She died because of you!! You killed her, Adrien. You took what was mine and you are acting all innocent. Fuck you."
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