The industrial district reeked of rust and decay. It was a graveyard of forgotten factories, where the city's filth festered beneath flickering streetlights.
Shade crouched on a rooftop, staring down at an old steel mill—Sable's safehouse. The bastard had fortified it well. Guards patrolled the perimeter, armed to the teeth. A black SUV idled near the entrance, engine running. A getaway car.
They were planning to move Jade.
Shade's grip tightened around his knife. He had spent the last few years lurking in the darkness, striking fear into the underworld. But this wasn't just another job. This was personal.
Jade was the only person left who could still look him in the eye and see him—not the monster he had become.
And he wasn't about to let her die.
Inside the Safehouse
Jade groaned as she came to. Her wrists were tied behind her back, her legs bound to a steel chair. A single light flickered above, casting harsh shadows across the cold concrete floor.
A figure leaned against a nearby table, watching her.
Sable.
"Comfortable?" he asked, sipping a glass of whiskey.
Jade smirked, despite the dull throb in her shoulder. "Could use a pillow, maybe a glass of wine."
Sable chuckled. "Still got that fire, huh?" He set his drink down and leaned in close. "Tell me, Jade—what exactly is he to you?"
She arched a brow. "Who? Santa Claus?"
Sable's smile vanished. He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. "Shade. Sentinel. Whatever he calls himself now. You used to run with him, didn't you? Back when he still played by the rules."
Jade licked her lips, tasting blood. "We had fun together. That's all."
Sable studied her, searching for a crack in her armor. "You think he's coming for you?"
Jade tilted her head. "I know he is."
As if on cue, the power cut out.
The room plunged into darkness.
And then the screams began.