Silence hung in the air, thick and heavy. The kind of silence that feels like it knows something you don't.
Finally, I found my voice. It came out rough, barely more than a whisper.
"Why... why are you giving me this? My uncle died five years ago. Why now? And who even are you?" My voice rose, emotion cracking through. "Why should I believe this nonsense?"
The questions poured out — a frantic rush of confusion, disbelief, and fear.
The man across from me didn't flinch. His face, worn and unreadable, didn't move. Calmly, he lit a cigarette. The flare of the match briefly lit the hollows around his eyes. He inhaled, slow and steady, the cigarette glowing orange in the dim light.
"Yes," he said at last, voice low. "Your uncle died. The Order of the Raven was more than pleased to see Edward go."
Smoke slipped from his mouth, curling into the space between us.
"But I'm telling you this: Edward wasn't just your uncle. He was the founder of the Crimson Hand — a syndicate once feared, now nearly forgotten. It's weakened, barely holding on. But as long as those two boxes exist..." He tapped them gently. "The Crimson Hand still has a future."
My thoughts slammed against each other, a mess of disbelief and rising dread. My uncle — the man who rescued us from the street, who made bad jokes while heating canned soup — a mafia boss?
"You're insane," I said, but even I didn't believe my own words.
The man leaned forward, voice quieter now.
"As Edward's only successor, you have to come with us. Staying here puts you and your sister in danger. And frankly, me too."
My mind latched onto one word. Successor. I ignored it and focused on what mattered.
"Letisha," I whispered. "My sister."
He didn't even blink.
"The Ravens are on their way. And you — you have no power. You're a weakling, alone."
Then, without hesitation, he said, "If you're hesitating for her sake... you'll lose her. They'll find her. She'll die. Only one of you can survive this."
Something in me snapped.
"WHAT?!"
The word tore from my throat. The man finally flinched, just slightly. His eyes met mine, and something shifted in his expression — surprise, maybe. A hint of doubt.
Then a flicker of something else entirely. Recognition.
Thorne studied the boy closely.
His features were sharper now — not in shape, but in presence. There was a flicker in his eyes, faint but unmistakable. Blue, yes... but something gold stirred underneath, like it was waiting.
And his hair — it had always been light, but now, under the streetlight, it looked almost white. Like something was waking up, quietly and slowly.
Thorne exhaled, the cigarette burning low.
You really did pass it down, Edward... even this.
I pushed the boxes back toward him. My voice was steady now, even though I could feel my heart beating in my throat.
"I don't have to believe anything you're saying. I don't know you. Maybe there's another Edward. Maybe you've got the wrong guy."
He started to speak, but I cut him off.
"My uncle was the man who gave us a roof and made sure we ate. He wasn't a boss or a killer or whatever you're trying to make him out to be. So no — I'm not part of this. Not interested. Not involved."
I took a breath.
"And since you said you might be in danger? Then leave. Be safe. But don't come back."
I opened the car door.
"Hey, no—" he started, but I slammed it shut and ran.
The guards standing nearby turned, reacting fast — but then, strangely, they stopped. They didn't chase me. Just watched.
I didn't look back.
By the time I burst through the door of our apartment, my lungs were on fire. Letisha was at the counter, still in her oversized hoodie, stirring something on the stove.
"Brother! You're back already? What happened? You're breathing hard."
I shook my head and tried to catch my breath. I wanted to tell her everything, but the words tangled. If I told her now, I'd only drag her into something worse.
"It was... some bullshit," I said. "Maybe a prank. You know how rich people are sometimes."
She raised an eyebrow. "Rich people?"
I cursed under my breath. Stupid slip.
Letisha immediately moved toward the sink and poured a glass of water, rushing to my side.
"What happened? You look like you saw a ghost."
I took the glass and drank quickly, trying to keep it together. She stood close, watching me. Waiting.
Before she could ask again, she said suddenly, "Hey, you didn't even buy me the ice cream. I won the football bet last night. Don't think I forgot."
I latched onto the distraction instantly. "Ah, r-right. Sorry. Hey, I actually saw your boyfriend earlier. He was out with some people. Do you know them?"
Sorry, Mark.
Her face shifted immediately. "What?"
She grabbed her phone and stepped out of the room, already dialing. Her voice went low and sharp as she spoke into the phone. "Mark?"
I finally let out a shaky breath.
The streetlights outside flickered on. I pulled out my phone and called work.
"I won't make it in," I said flatly. There went the money I needed this week. I didn't care.
I shut off the lights, crawled into bed, and stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours. The man's words echoed in my head. The boxes. The order. The threat.
Letisha.
Eventually, sleep took me — not gently, but like a wave crashing over my head. A dark, dreamless silence.
But even in sleep, I knew the world would never be the same again.