The tires screeched against the pavement as Amara sped off into the dark countryside, gripping the wheel tightly. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and she struggled to steady her breathing.
Beside her, Liam rummaged through the first aid box, his jaw clenched in pain. He peeled off his bloodied shirt, exposing the deep graze on his shoulder. The bullet had only scratched him, but the pain was sharp and relentless. He poured antiseptic over the wound, hissing as it burned.
Amara glanced at him, concern flickering in her eyes. "Are you okay?"
"I'll live," Liam muttered, wrapping a bandage around his shoulder with practiced ease. His fingers moved quickly—he had done this countless times before.
The road stretched on for miles, endless and desolate. They had been driving for nearly three hours, with no sign of civilization. The only light came from the car's headlights, illuminating the eerie landscape of dense trees and fog-covered hills.
Then, in the distance, a shadow appeared. A man stood by the side of the road, illuminated by their headlights.
Amara slowed the car, exchanging a wary glance with Liam.
The man, middle-aged with graying hair and piercing blue eyes, stepped forward. His clothes were worn, and his face was lined with age, but his posture was strong, confident.
"You folks look lost," he said, his voice deep and calm.
"We're looking for a motel," Amara said, forcing a polite smile.
The man shook his head. "There's no motel for miles. But you're welcome to stay at my place for the night." His gaze flickered over Liam's bandaged shoulder. "Looks like you could use some rest."
Liam hesitated, studying the man carefully. Something about him felt… off. But they had no other option.
"Thanks," Liam said. "That would be great."
The man nodded. "Name's Dante. Follow me."
The Gathering of the Black Veil
Meanwhile, back in New York, the Black Veil convened in their hidden chamber beneath an abandoned cathedral.
The room was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of burning incense. Hooded figures in black cloaks sat around a massive stone table, their faces concealed behind dark masks with hollow, soulless eyes.
At the head of the table sat the Grand Master, a man known only as The Revenant. His voice was a whisper that carried an undeniable weight of power.
"Liam is becoming a thorn in our side," he said, his fingers tapping against the table. "He has eliminated nearly ten of our finest assassins, and yet, he still breathes."
A younger member, Blake, shifted in his seat before speaking. "My Lord, if I may… Why are we investing so much in Liam? If he no longer wishes to be one of us, why not let him go? He has chosen love over the brotherhood."
The Revenant turned his masked face toward Blake, his voice cold. "Fool. We do not care about Liam. It is the woman who matters."
A murmur spread through the room. Some nodded in agreement, while others leaned forward with curiosity.
"She possesses the solution to mankind's greatest enemy—death," the Revenant continued. "For centuries, we have poured trillions into sorcery, alchemy, astrology… searching for a way to defeat mortality. And now, the impossible has become reality. Amara Kingsley is proof of reincarnation. We will have her, at any cost."
Another member, a man with a scar running down his cheek, spoke. "What is our next move, my Lord?"
The Revenant's lips curled into a sinister smirk beneath his mask. "We already have them exactly where we want them."
A heavy silence followed. Then, the scarred man chuckled darkly. "You mean… Dante?"
The Revenant nodded. "Yes. Our loyal brother is with them as we speak. They have walked willingly into the lion's den."
A ripple of laughter spread across the room, the sound chilling and inhuman.
"By sunrise, the girl will be ours."
Dante's Trap
Liam and Amara followed Dante to a secluded house deep in the countryside, a small, rustic cabin hidden among the thick trees of Rannoch Moor, Scotland.
Dante led them inside, lighting an oil lamp that cast flickering shadows on the walls.
"Welcome to my space," he said, motioning for them to sit.
The house was small but cozy, filled with old furniture and hunting equipment. Animal skulls and aged maps lined the walls.
"So, what brings you two to the UK?" Dante asked casually.
Before Amara could answer, Liam spoke first. "We're on vacation. Booked a place, but we got robbed. Barely made it out alive."
Dante studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Rough luck." His eyes flickered to Liam's shoulder. "That wound… a little rum should help disinfect it."
He walked to his refrigerator, pulled out a bottle of dark rum, and tossed it to Liam.
Liam caught it effortlessly. "Appreciate it."
Amara smiled. "Thank you for offering us shelter, Mr. Dante. We really appreciate it."
Dante waved a hand. "No trouble at all. This is a quiet place. Not many people pass through here."
Liam took a sip of the rum, his eyes scanning the room. Then he saw it—on the far wall, hidden among the decorations. A symbol.
The Black Veil insignia.
His blood ran cold.
Dante was one of them.
His pulse spiked as he turned to Amara, keeping his expression neutral. He leaned in close, whispering, "We have to leave. Now."
Amara frowned. "Why?"
Liam met her gaze, his voice firm. "He's working with them."
Before Amara could react, a gunshot echoed through the house.
They froze.
Dante stood across the room, a pistol aimed directly at them. His expression had shifted from warm host to cold executioner.
"Move," Dante commanded.
Liam clenched his jaw but raised his hands. Amara followed suit, her heart hammering.
Dante stepped closer, retrieving a pair of handcuffs from his belt.
"Hands behind your heads," he ordered.
As they obeyed, he smirked. "You two walked right into our trap. The Black Veil will be here soon… and they can't wait to meet you."