Jonathan Blackwood.
The name alone was enough to make his blood run cold. A former detective, Blackwood had vanished from the force years ago, just before Damien’s father died. Some called him a traitor. Others whispered that he had seen something he wasn’t supposed to see.
And now, he was the only link to Damien’s past.
Isaac leaned against the car, watching him closely. “So? What did our old friend have to say?”
Damien exhaled slowly. “He wants me to find him.”
Isaac scoffed. “That’s convenient. Did he leave an address too, or do we need to follow a trail of cryptic breadcrumbs?”
Damien flipped the burner phone over in his hand. It was an old habit—turning things over, looking for hidden details. Something felt off.
Blackwood wasn’t the kind of man to leave trails. He was the kind of man who erased them.
Yet, he had practically invited Damien to chase him.
Why?
Isaac folded his arms. “You think it’s a trap?”
Damien’s voice was calm. “Everything’s a trap.”
Isaac sighed. “Well, we should at least figure out where to start.”
Damien’s phone buzzed.
A new text message.
?? Pier 17. Midnight. Come alone.
Isaac leaned over Damien’s shoulder and groaned. “Oh, great. Middle of the night, abandoned docks, classic setup for a murder scene.”
Damien pocketed the phone. “Exactly.”
Isaac raised an eyebrow. “You’re still going, aren’t you?”
Damien smirked. “Of course.”
The city lights faded behind them as Damien drove toward Pier 17.
The air was thick with salt and gasoline, the distant sound of waves crashing against metal. A single streetlamp flickered at the entrance of the docks, casting long, broken shadows.
Isaac glanced at Damien. “I still don’t like this.”
Damien checked his gun. “I’m not asking you to.”
Isaac exhaled. “At least take this.” He tossed Damien a small earpiece. “In case things go south.”
Damien placed it in his ear and stepped out of the car. “Stay here.”
Isaac muttered under his breath. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be the one calling for an ambulance when you get shot.”
Damien didn’t answer. He was already moving.
The pier was empty. Too empty.
Damien’s boots echoed against the damp wooden planks. The smell of rusted metal and rotting fish clung to the air. A single cargo container stood at the far end, its doors slightly ajar.
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Damien slowed his steps.
Then, a voice drifted from the shadows.
“You always were too stubborn for your own good.”
Damien turned.
Jonathan Blackwood stood at the edge of the pier.
He looked older—thinner, more tired—but the sharpness in his eyes hadn’t dulled.
Damien’s fingers twitched near his gun. “You have a habit of disappearing.”
Blackwood smirked. “And you have a habit of chasing ghosts.”
Damien took a step closer. “Why did you call me here?”
Blackwood’s smile faded. “Because you’re running out of time.”
Damien’s pulse quickened. “Explain.”
Blackwood’s voice was low. Serious.
“Your father didn’t die of a heart attack.”
A long silence.
Damien’s breath came slow and controlled. “Then what happened?”
Blackwood took something from his coat. A small, sealed envelope.
“He was murdered.”
Damien’s fingers clenched into a fist.
Blackwood extended the envelope. “Everything you need to know is in here.”
Damien reached for it—
A gunshot shattered the silence.
Blackwood staggered back. Blood bloomed across his chest.
Damien lunged forward, catching him before he collapsed. “Jonathan—stay with me!”
Blackwood choked on his own breath, his fingers weakly gripping Damien’s arm.
His voice was barely a whisper.
“Find… the man… with the red insignia…”
Another gunshot.
A bullet grazed Damien’s shoulder. He gritted his teeth and grabbed the envelope before dragging Blackwood behind the cargo container.
Through the darkness, he caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure on the rooftop. A sniper.
Another shot rang out, missing Damien by inches.
Isaac’s voice screamed in his earpiece.
“Damien, get the hell out of there!”
Damien clenched his jaw. Blackwood was fading fast, and the shooter wasn’t going to wait.
He had two choices.
- Stay and fight. Risk getting killed.
- Run. Lose his only chance at answers.
His heart pounded.
Then—
He made his decision.
October 15, 2023
Damien’s grip tightened around Blackwood’s fading body.
The ex-detective’s breath came in ragged gasps, his blood staining Damien’s gloves.
"Stay with me, damn it!" Damien hissed.
Blackwood’s fingers weakly gripped Damien’s sleeve. His lips moved, barely above a whisper.
"T—the file... protect it..."
Then—his hand went limp.
Damien froze.
Blackwood’s eyes glazed over, staring at something beyond this world.
He was gone.
A sharp breath escaped Damien’s lips. He didn’t have time to process it—
Another gunshot.
Wood splintered inches from his head. The sniper was repositioning.
Think fast.
- The envelope was still clutched in Damien’s hand. The last thing Blackwood left behind.
- The shooter wasn’t missing by accident. They were trying to pin him down.
- And if he stayed here one second longer, he’d be next.
Damien shoved Blackwood’s body behind the container and moved.
He ducked low, sprinting toward a stack of cargo crates. Another gunshot rang out—this time, shattering a metal drum just behind him. Oil spilled onto the wooden pier.
His mind worked at inhuman speed.
The sniper had a perfect vantage point—the rooftop of an old warehouse about 200 meters away. With the moonlight reflecting off the water, his silhouette was barely visible.
Damien clicked his earpiece.
“Isaac! Sniper, east warehouse! I need a distraction, NOW.”
Isaac’s voice came sharp and quick. “On it.”
A second later—
BOOM.
A massive explosion erupted from the parking lot. Car alarms shrieked through the night. Smoke and fire lit up the sky.
The sniper hesitated. That was all Damien needed.
He sprinted toward the nearest service ladder and climbed fast. His breath burned in his lungs as he reached the rooftop of an abandoned warehouse.
Gun drawn, he scanned the darkness.
The sniper was gone.
Only the faint echo of footsteps on gravel.
Damien didn’t chase. He knew better. This was a warning.
The sniper could’ve killed him. But they didn’t.
Instead, they took Blackwood out first.
Why?
Damien slid back into the car, blood staining his sleeves.
Isaac’s eyes flickered toward him. “Where’s Blackwood?”
Damien was silent.
Isaac’s jaw clenched. “Damn it.”
No one spoke for a long moment.
Then—Damien lifted the envelope.
It was thick—stuffed with something more than just papers.
Isaac eyed it warily. “That thing worth a man’s life?”
Damien’s voice was low. “It better be.”
Carefully, he tore it open.
Inside, there were photographs.
At first glance, they looked like ordinary crime scene photos. Victims. Blood. Twisted bodies.
But then Damien saw it.
His breath hitched.
In the background of every crime scene—painted onto a wall, carved into a table, or stitched into fabric—
Was the same symbol.
A crimson insignia.
Isaac’s voice was hushed. “What the hell is that?”
Damien didn’t answer.
Because he had seen that symbol before.
A long time ago.
On the night his father died.