The walk back to the apartment was a blur. Sam's feet moved mechanically, one in front of the other, while his mind churned with everything he had just done. The look of terror in the man's eyes was burned into his memory.
Sam told himself it had to be done. He hadn't killed anyone. He hadn't crossed that line. But the weight in his chest said otherwise. He had threatened a man, wielded fear like a weapon, and there was no denying the satisfaction he'd seen on the Brotherhood's faces when they handed him the task.
The night felt colder now, the wind biting at his skin. When Sam reached his apartment building, he hesitated at the door. His hand hovered over the handle as he tried to calm his racing thoughts.
What would Emma think if she knew?
The question hit him like a punch to the gut, and he pushed it away. Emma couldn't know. Ever.
When he finally stepped inside, the warmth of the apartment did little to soothe him. Emma was sitting on the couch, her knees tucked under her chin as she flipped through a tattered paperback. She looked up when he entered, her eyes lighting up briefly before narrowing with concern.
"You're late," she said, setting the book aside.
"Yeah," Sam muttered, shrugging out of his jacket. "The job ran long."
Emma studied him, her sharp gaze seeming to pierce through his defenses. "You look like hell."
"Thanks," Sam said dryly, forcing a faint smile.
"I'm serious, Sam. You can't keep doing this to yourself. Whatever you're working on—it's not worth it if it's tearing you apart."
Sam turned away, pretending to busy himself with the kettle. "I told you, I'm fine."
"You always say that," Emma said softly.
Her words lingered in the air, heavy with unspoken worry. Sam didn't trust himself to respond.
The next morning, Sam woke to the sound of his phone buzzing on the nightstand. He groaned, reaching for it with a sense of dread.
The message was from the Brotherhood.
Report to the docks. Midnight.
Sam stared at the words, his stomach twisting. Another task. Another step deeper into their world.
He sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair. How long could he keep this up? How far would they push him before he broke?
Emma knocked on the door, poking her head in. "Morning. You coming to eat?"
Sam nodded, forcing a smile. "Yeah. Be there in a minute."
As she disappeared down the hall, Sam slipped the phone into his pocket. For Emma's sake, he had to keep going.
The docks were desolate at night, the air thick with the smell of salt and decay. Sam's breath fogged in the cold as he approached the meeting spot—a row of abandoned shipping containers stacked haphazardly near the water's edge.
The smirking man was waiting for him, leaning against one of the containers with his arms crossed.
"There's our golden boy," the man said, his grin as sharp as ever. "Ready for your next big test?"
Sam didn't bother with pleasantries. "What is it this time?"
The man chuckled, pulling a small envelope from his coat pocket. He handed it to Sam, who opened it reluctantly. Inside was a photograph of a man in his late thirties, along with an address scrawled on a piece of paper.
"This one's different," the man said, his tone turning serious. "No scaring him off. No empty threats. This guy's a liability, and liabilities get removed."
Sam's blood ran cold. "You want me to kill him?"
"Bingo," the man said, clapping his hands. "Took you long enough to figure it out."
Sam stared at the photograph, his chest tightening. The man in the picture looked ordinary—like someone who might work at a hardware store or coach a little league team.
"I didn't sign up for this," Sam said, his voice shaking.
The smirking man's grin faded, replaced by a hard, cold stare. "You signed up for whatever we tell you to do. You're in, mate. There's no backing out now."
Sam's hands clenched into fists. "And if I refuse?"
The man shrugged. "You know the drill. Refuse, and we'll make sure you and your sister both disappear. Permanently."
Sam's heart sank. They had never mentioned Emma before, but now their threat felt more real than ever.
"What did he do?" Sam asked, his voice quieter now.
"That's not your concern," the man replied. "Your job is to follow orders. Simple as that."
Sam looked down at the photograph again, his mind a whirlwind of fear and doubt. He felt like he was standing at the edge of a cliff, staring into the abyss.
"Midnight tomorrow," the man said, his tone final. "Don't be late."
The hours leading up to the task were agonizing. Sam sat alone in the apartment, his thoughts spiraling as he tried to decide what to do. He knew he couldn't go through with it—not this time.
But if he refused, what would happen to Emma?
When she came home that evening, her cheerful chatter filled the small space, momentarily lifting the oppressive weight on Sam's shoulders. She talked about her plans for the future, her excitement about starting classes.
"You'd be proud of me, right?" she asked, her eyes shining.
Sam's chest tightened. "Of course I would."
As she spoke, Sam made a decision. He wouldn't let the Brotherhood drag him any further into their darkness. But if he was going to defy them, he had to find a way to protect Emma first.
When she finally went to bed, Sam slipped out of the apartment, his mind racing. He didn't have a plan yet, but one thing was clear: he couldn't face this alone.