The big man squeezed the GPS in his palm until his knuckles locked into bloodless, white stones. He knew he shouldn't be here. Walking among the headstones felt like a transgression, as if the soles of his boots pressing into the damp earth were actively waking the dead beneath. But fear-heavy, hot, and suffocating-pushed him forward. Sweat stung his eyes, freezing almost instantly against his skin. "Please...", he prayed to a silent sky, "Let me find him. Let this end tonight."

"May God give peace to my aunt," a voice drifted through the dark, halting the big man's heart in his chest.

It was a calm voice. Horrifyingly calm.

Near a weathered headstone sat a shadow. The darkness swallowed his face, but his hands were pressed together in a neat, pious fold. "She cried her last tears because of him," the shadow whispered, the words carrying the weight of a solemn church sermon, yet dripping with absolute venom. "May God punish the man I am sending. The one who killed her. Torment him forever."

It was a prayer whispered in hell. The sheer, holy hatred in those words made the big man's knees tremble.

The figure stood, unfolding to a towering six-foot-two. Even in the gloom, the silhouette was terrifyingly precise. A tailored black suit that clung perfectly to his frame, a tie straight as a knife, and boots polished to a mirror shine. His white shirt glowed like a shroud in the moonlight. Not a single strand of his middle-parted hair was out of place. He looked like death dressed for a funeral.

The big man's voice cracked, dry as dust. "Zane???"

It was his old friend. His worst nightmare.

Zane turned, and a smile cut across his face-sharp, cold, and entirely devoid of warmth. "Naaa," he murmured, his voice a low vibration that seemed to shake the very graves. "Justice fits better now."

The name drop was a physical blow. Panic, primal and wild, took over.

The big man screamed, a raw sound of terror, and his legs moved before his brain could think. He bolted toward the looming silhouette of the nearby warehouse, slamming the heavy metal door behind him. He gasped for air, back pressed to the iron. Safe.

Click.

The lock turned from the outside. Zane stepped through the threshold, his movements fluid and unbothered. He locked the door behind himself with a final, echoing snap.

"Your tomb is here," Zane said softly, looking around the empty, dusty expanse. "You choose how."

The cornered animal in the big man finally snapped. Fear curdled into a desperate, roaring rage. "I know I lose most times," he growled, chest heaving. "But tonight? Not tonight!"

He charged, throwing his entire weight into a wild swing. He missed. His fist collided with a concrete pillar, the impact sending a shockwave of pain up his arm as the plaster exploded into a choking cloud of dust.

Zane moved like smoke, effortlessly slipping out of the trajectory. No block, no counter-just a seamless glide.

Desperate, the big man cornered him against a central metal pillar. Fist cocked, aiming to crush Zane's midsection.

But Zane didn't flinch. He grabbed the pillar above his head, and with impossible, terrifying core strength, launched his body horizontally-a human flag suspended in mid-air. The big man's fist smashed into the hollow metal pillar, the base buckling under the useless force. Zane dropped gracefully from the air, his boot connecting with the big man's chest in a swift, devastating kick.

The big man flew backward, crashing hard onto the concrete. The breath rushed out of him, leaving his lungs burning and flat.

Before he could draw a breath, Zane was there, dropping to his knees beside him. Zane's eyes were bloodshot, swimming with a terrifying mixture of tears and unbridled fury.

"May God punish you," Zane whispered.

Large, calloused hands clamped around the big man's neck. A sudden, violent twist-two hundred and seventy degrees.

Crack.

The world went black instantly. In that final millisecond of fading consciousness, a single, agonizing thought flickered through the big man's dying mind: Auntie... I'm sorry.

Zane's perfect composure shattered. The adrenaline washed out, leaving him hollow. Tears, hot and heavy, spilled down his cold cheeks, tracing the sharp lines of his nose and jaw. He stared at the lifeless body. He had done it for her. His aunt was avenged. Yet, the victory tasted like ash.

His pocket buzzed, shattering the silence. He pulled out his phone. Emma's text lit up the dark: D.O.M. location. East highway. Two hours.

A raw, guttural scream tore from Zane's throat, bouncing off the warehouse walls. He ran to his Harley, kickstarting the engine into a deafening roar. As he tore down the highway, the biting wind whipped the tears from his face, but it couldn't wipe away the memories. Emma's laugh. The warmth of her hand in his. A time when love existed before the hatred consumed him.

The phone buzzed in his ear via the earpiece. "Meet first," Emma's voice pleaded, a soft, fragile anchor in his storm of rage. "Promise me, Zane."

Ten minutes later, Zane kicked open the door to her apartment.

"Hi, Zane," she said, her voice quiet, searching his face.

"Tell me now," Zane rasped, his hands trembling. "Business waits."

Emma looked at him-really looked at him. She saw the hollow hunger in his eyes, the deep-seated exhaustion. "You've been starving since yesterday," she said, her voice firming up. "Bath. Eat. Or I walk. I won't help a dead man."

Zane didn't argue. He shut himself in the bathroom, stripping away the blood-scented clothes. In the dim light, his body was a roadmap of violence. From his narrow waist to his broad shoulders, his skin was mapped with scars-jagged knife cuts, puckered bullet entry wounds, the raised welt of fire burns. A monster's canvas.

He turned on the shower, letting the water run cold. He looked up at the mirror, but the glass showed a calm, stoic face. A lie. He hated the lie.

With a roar, his fist slammed into the mirror. The glass shattered, raining silver shards into the sink. Blood welled from his knuckles, mixing with the running water. He struck it again, welcome pain radiating up his arm. He needed to feel something. He needed to punish himself.

"Idiot fucker! Open the door!" Emma screamed, banging frantically from the other side.

Zane stared at the blood on his hands, motionless.

A heavy metal stool crashed against the brass doorknob outside. The wood splintered, and the door burst open. Emma rushed in, her eyes wide with panic. As she reached for him, Zane's survival instincts flared blindly. He threw a panicked punch.

The blow caught her cheek. Emma stumbled back, a dark purple bruise already blooming under her eye.

But she didn't back down. Fire flared in her eyes. At five-foot-five, she was small, but she was fiercely strong. She stepped right back into his space, grabbed him by the waist, and with a grunt of pure leverage, hoisted his heavy frame and threw him out into the hallway, collapsing onto the floor with him.

Slap!

The sting on his cheek brought the world back into sharp focus. Zane blinked, his vision clearing. He looked at her, horrified. "Where...? Clothes? D.O.M.? Your face... the bruise... did I do that?"

"Dress," she commanded, her voice shaking but resolute as she tossed a warm towel over his wet shoulders. "Food is on the table."

Moments later, Zane sat in a black T-shirt that hugged his scarred frame and loose track pants. His hands throbbed. He wrapped them tightly in thick cloth, wedging nuts and bolts over his knuckles, pulling the fabric until the pressure was sharp and agonizing. Let the pain keep me sharp, he thought.

On the table was a plate of simple roasted chicken. The smell of home hit him, a painful contrast to the blood on his hands. He ate standing up, devouring the food in twenty-nine seconds flat. His stomach was full, but his chest remained entirely empty.

Emma watched him, her hand gently touching her throbbing cheek. "D.O.M. is dangerous, Zane," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Stay. Please."

Zane looked at her. He couldn't let her get dragged into his hell any further. He stepped close, his hand rising. With a swift, gentle tap to a pressure point at the base of her neck, her eyes fluttered shut.

He caught her light body before she hit the floor, carrying her gently to the bed. He tucked the blanket around her shoulders-the tender, protective way his mother used to do. He set a glass of water on the nightstand, adjusted the AC to a cool hum, and leaned down to press a soft kiss to her forehead. Her skin tasted of salt and tears.

With a shaking hand, he scribbled a note on a scrap of paper: If I don't return, forget me. Find a new city. Be happy.

Outside, the Harley roared to life. As he tore down the dark highway toward the D.O.M. location, the wind howling in his ears, his mind drifted backward. The rage softened, replaced by a bittersweet ache. He remembered Emma's first laugh. Her first kiss.

I can't lose her, too, he thought. He forced his breathing to slow, searching for the calm before the storm.

Back in the quiet apartment, Emma slept. The AC hummed a lonely lullaby. In her dreams, she didn't see the scarred monster with bloody knuckles. She saw the boy he used to be.

In her mind, she was back at the college gates.

Zane was eighteen. He was skinny, his hair a messy, windblown mop, wearing a grin that could light up a room. The old campus janitor was shaking his head, locking the gate. "Naaa, Zane. You're late. Class started ten minutes ago."

"Oh, I can't come in, huh?" Zane laughed, his eyes sparkling with pure, harmless mischief.

Before the janitor could answer, Zane scrambled up the massive banyan tree beside the wall, swinging from a thick branch, and leaped straight through the open window of the fourth-floor classroom. He landed in a perfect, athletic roll on the linoleum floor.

The entire classroom erupted.

The professor turned red, veins popping in his neck. "Zane! Out of my classroom!"

But the boys in the back were already cheering, pounding on their desks. "King!"

The girls gasped, hiding giggles behind their notebooks. "He's absolutely crazy!"

Laughter filled the room-loud, bright, and free. It was a lifetime ago.