Chapter 12: No Coincidence
The hum led me to the noise—a rustle in the alley's shadows. My knife was already out, glinting under Norwegick's dim streetlights. It was him—the creep from the other night, the thug who thought I was soft. His scar caught the light, his eyes wide as he realized his mistake. He'd been spying, lurking like a rat.
"Who're you stalking, creep?" I stepped closer, my voice low and sharp. "You're a threat. I could get you arrested, but where's the fun in that? I should deal with you now."
The hum pulsed in my chest, a song of fury, egging me on.
"Wait!" he yelled, hands up, fear sour on his breath. I could smell it, see it in his trembling eyes. Oh, the tingling thrill—I loved it.
"You're David's kid," he stammered. "Everyone knows who David is. He might be dead, but his legacy lives."
I grabbed his arm, twisting it hard, my knife hovering at his throat.
"Nah, creep, you're messing with me, and I'mma mess with you." My smile was sinister, the Female King's smirk. "I should end you right here."
"Marcus!" he gasped, desperate. "I know about Marcus!"
I froze, the hum spiking. I let go, but my glare could've killed. "Spill. Everything."
He gulped, words tumbling out.
"Your dad was a legend—rich, powerful, feared. Took after his dad, Lawrence, your grandfather. No one crossed him. Marcus was his best friend, his right-hand man. They did everything together—business, even dirty work, if you believe the rumors. But Marcus was good. Helped people. So folks didn't buy the bad stuff."
He swallowed hard, glancing at my knife, then continued.
"Then years back, Marcus quit. Wanted to settle down. Got married, had a kid. Your dad was happy for him—stood at his wedding. They stayed close. But eight years ago, October 8, Marcus came to Liriwick with his wife and daughter. Next day, October 9, they were dead. Cops called it a car accident, but we knew it was a lie. Just days later, David—your dad—was dead too. And you and your mom? Vanished."
My blood ran cold.
Liriwick. My town. October 9. The day the masked man shot Dad. The day our world burned. I remembered Dad saying he was expecting an old friend. Marcus.
"Shit," I whispered, the hum roaring in my ears. "It's no coincidence."
Marcus wasn't just a name in Dad's notebook. He was a threat to them—just like us. They wiped him out—his wife, his kid, his life. Same way they tried with us. The "pact," the "throne," Mystery M—it was all connected. A net tightening around everyone linked to my father's legacy.
I turned to the creep, knife steady.
"You know too much." My voice was ice. "What am I gonna do with you?"
His eyes widened. "No, please—"
"I think I might have to kill you," I said, the hum singing of blood.
I drove the knife into his thigh, deep, where it'd hurt to move. He screamed, collapsing, blood soaking into the pavement.
I crouched beside him, eyeing the blade.
"Hmmm... what next?" I asked, voice calm as I studied the drip of blood down my knife. "Let's see how long you last."