"If this is what I think it is," Rafael said, standing from the couch, "we're going to need the one person we've both tried to avoid."
Anna paled.
Her coffee cup trembled slightly in her hand.
"You mean…"
"Yes."
Rafael's voice was tight.
"It's time we visit Tyson."
Rain peppered the windshield like static, a constant rhythm of unease. The city blurred past as Rafael drove, silence stretching between them like barbed wire.
"Do you really think it's him?" Anna finally asked.
Rafael didn't look at her. "I don't think. I know."
"But that's impossible. We went to his funeral, Raf."
"Yeah. We went. But the truth? That never got buried."
They passed the old stadium. The same one where Eli's last game had been played. The same one where cheers had turned to screams. Anna turned her face away from it.
They pulled up to a low, half-abandoned building on the edge of town. Rusted gates. Cracked windows. One working porch light flickering like it had a heartbeat.
Tyson lived here now. Or… whatever was left of him.
Anna whispered, "He's not going to be happy to see us."
"He never was."
They knocked.
Footsteps. Then silence.
And finally—the door creaked open.
Tyson stood in the frame. Shirtless. Tattoos. Cigarette. Scar over one eyebrow. Hair overgrown. Eyes—sharp and utterly sober.
"Well," he said. "Look what guilt dragged in."
Rafael crossed his arms. "You've been watching the games?"
Tyson let out a dry laugh. "Hard not to. Social media won't shut up about that new kid. Reyes, right?"
"You know who he is."
Tyson's smile faded.
"Those eyes don't lie."
Anna stepped forward. "Then you believe it. You believe it's Eli."
Tyson turned away, left the door open behind him.
"I know it is."
Scene 4: Tyson's Revelation
Inside, his place was a wreck—newspapers everywhere, match posters pinned with knives, old photos scattered across a warped table.
He motioned to a chair.
"Sit. Because if he's back, then the countdown has started."
Anna blinked. "What countdown?"
Tyson tapped a stack of polaroids. Five faces. Crossed out. All except one.
"You think Eli just came back to play football?" he said.
"Nah. He came back to finish what we started."
Anna picked up a photo. Julian's face. Underneath it, Tyson had scribbled in red:
"The silent ones are the first to fall."
Final Beat of the Chapter
Rafael's jaw clenched. "So what do we do?"
Tyson looked him dead in the eye.
"You either help him… or get out of his way. Because Eli Reyes is dead. And whatever's wearing his face now?
He didn't come back for peace."
He came back for war.
The field is empty. The lights are off. But Eli is there—alone under the stars—juggling the ball in silence.
Five names. Five sins. Five ends.
Miguel cracked first. Julian's next.
He stops the ball, toe on leather. Stares out into the dark like it's speaking back.
The next morning, during training, Eli's coach pulls him aside.
"You've been playing like you've got a devil chasing you," he says.
"Maybe I do," Eli replies without missing a beat.
The coach frowns. "You requested Falcon FC. That's not a coincidence."
Eli offers a half-smile, the kind that doesn't reach his eyes.
"I have unfinished business with their midfield."
Short scene. A memory resurfaces mid-practice:
Julian, standing by the locker room door, eyes wide, mouth shut.
"Say something!" Eli had screamed through blood.
Julian had just looked away.
Back in the present, Eli's shot hits the crossbar and bounces off. His breathing is heavier than usual. Not from exertion—from restraint.
Eli gets a mysterious message after practice:
"We need to talk. It's about the others. – R"
He stares at the screen.
Rafael.
For the first time, Eli hesitates. Not because he's afraid—but because Rafael wasn't part of the attack. He was Eli's friend… or pretended to be.
He doesn't reply. Not yet.
That night, he sits in front of his wall of names. Five faces.
He draws a red slash through Miguel's photo.
Moves Julian's photo to the center.
"You watched me die," he whispers.
"Now I'll make sure the world watches you fall."
He circles the date of the upcoming match.
Eli closes his notebook. Stands.
Outside, thunder rumbles.
"Two down. Three to go."