Chapter 10
2141words
Undisclosed Location
Rain fell in curtains—thick, blinding, as if the world was trying to hide her again. But there was no hiding now. The name had been spoken. The past, unearthed.
The van screeched into the shelter of an abandoned shipping yard on the city's ragged outskirts, tires hissing over wet gravel. The rusted overhang barely held back the storm, and what little light remained filtered through broken slats and rain-streaked windows, painting the interior of the van in fractured shadows. The vehicle rocked once as it halted, then fell still.
Inside, silence reigned. Not the comfortable kind—but the stunned, heavy quiet of people who'd just outrun death.
Raven sat at the wheel, unmoving. Her hands remained locked around it, knuckles pale against the leather, as if letting go would undo something far more fragile than the vehicle. Rain streamed down the windshield in rhythmic sheets, but she didn’t blink, didn’t shift. The others stayed quiet. No one dared speak—not yet. Not while the air still held the echo of what she’d become.
Ash, seated behind her, had his head tilted against the window, jaw clenched, his fingers still twitching from the adrenaline. Vex—ever methodical, ever grim—was inspecting a shallow scrape along his forearm, likely from slamming into a rusted beam while hauling Lucian out. He rubbed at it absently, more annoyed than hurt, his movements stiff with leftover tension. Eli, in the front passenger seat, had slumped forward, hand still half-raised from when he'd tried to brace himself during one of Raven’s tighter, faster turns. A faint red mark bloomed near his temple, the kind that came from smacking into the dashboard—but he hadn’t said a word about it. No one had. Not yet.
And Lucian—he was watching her. Watching the way her shoulders rose and fell with too much restraint, like every breath had to pass inspection before it was allowed. Watching the unnatural stiffness in her frame, as if moving too freely might cause something to crack open—something fragile, or dangerous. Her hands were steady on the wheel, but her silence screamed.
The gunfire was gone, but it echoed in his head like it hadn’t gotten the message. Every crack of it replayed with cruel clarity. So did her voice—calm, level, terrifying in its certainty.
The name. The admission. The shattering finality of it.
She hadn’t hesitated. Hadn’t flinched. She’d stepped in front of him without thinking, like shielding him had never been a decision. Just instinct. No—worse. Inevitable. Like it had always been part of her wiring, something primal and ancient that activated without permission.
And that look in her eyes when she turned just enough for him to see her—the fear that wasn’t for herself. It had been for him.
That was what undid him.
Finally, with a sharp breath, Raven let go of the wheel. Her fingers uncurled slowly, like they’d forgotten how. The tension didn’t release so much as unravel—quietly, reluctantly, as though letting go was the real violence. Without a word, she shoved open the driver’s door and stepped into the rain.
The downpour met her like a wall. Cold, relentless, unyielding. But she didn’t flinch. Didn’t lift her hands. She just stood there, head tilted back slightly, eyes closed—not in surrender, but in silence. Like the water might wash away the echo of that name, or numb the burn of being seen. Or maybe she was just trying to feel something else—anything else—besides the storm still churning beneath her skin.
Behind her, the SUV door thudded shut. Lucian stepped out, the rain striking his shoulders in icy sheets. His shoes splashed in the gravel, steady and certain, but she didn’t turn.
From inside the van, Eli sat sideways, eyes tracking the two figures through the fogged window. The others were silent behind him—breathing, bandaging, still processing. But Eli wasn’t moving. He just watched. The way Raven stood so still, back rigid. The way Lucian approached without urgency, but without hesitation. Something passed between them that Eli couldn’t name—tension, maybe. Or trust, so worn it looked like defiance.
He didn’t say anything. Just exhaled slowly, leaned back, and muttered to himself, “Well… this’ll be something.”
Outside, Lucian didn’t call her name. Didn’t ask if she was okay. He didn’t wait for an invitation.
“I need to know,” he said, his voice low and strained, almost lost beneath the roar of the storm. “Not just the name. Everything.”
She remained still. Her hair, soaked and dark, clung to her skin in wet strands. Rain traced silent paths down her face, but she didn’t move to wipe it away. She didn’t shake. She didn’t even brace against the cold. It was as if she had fused with the silence, unmoved by the storm around her—rooted, unreadable, unbending.
After a long pause, she said, “It’s not a story you’ll like.”
“I don’t care,” Lucian replied. He took another step, his tone soft but resolute.
Only then did Raven turn. Rainwater streaked her cheeks, trailing over pale skin like the tears she’d never give herself permission to cry. Her eyes, once cold and sharp, were tired now. Haunted. The predator was gone.
What remained was something wounded. And very, very human.
“I was sixteen,” she said quietly, voice roughened by rain and fatigue. “My first mission. I insisted on it.”
She paused. Her mouth parted slightly, as if to continue, but then the color drained from her face. She wavered, breath catching, and her knees buckled beneath her.
‘Not here… not now. Keep moving.’ But her legs didn’t listen.
Lucian moved without thinking, arms catching her just as she sank.
“Oh, shit,” Eli hissed from the van doorway, voice sharp and immediate. “Ash—Vex! Outside, now!” His shout snapped through the storm, slicing through the lull like a shot. Both men turned at once, bolting toward the open side door.
It looked, for a terrifying moment, like she had fainted. But she blinked, slowly, her expression dazed. She was still conscious—but the pain had finally caught up.
Lucian’s arms supported her. “What’s wrong?” he asked, voice taut with alarm.
“I was stabbed,” Raven said, barely above a whisper. “Shoulder.”
Lucian didn’t hesitate. He tore the fabric at her shoulder, exposing the injury. Even in the dim evening light, the blood was visible—darker than the rain, and pooling fast.
The fitted combat shirt she wore had acted like a bandage, compressing the wound during the escape. But now, soaked through by the storm, it could no longer hold it back.
Lucian moved without hesitation. He crossed the space between them, water sloshing at his feet, and scooped Raven up into his arms. She didn’t resist—just closed her eyes for a moment, as if the effort of staying upright had finally outlived its usefulness.
He carried her swiftly toward the van, cradling her carefully against his chest. Rain drummed on the roof as he slid inside, the others making room instinctively.
“She’s been stabbed,” he said, his voice low and tight. “Shoulder. Right side. Deep.”
Ash was already climbing into the driver’s seat, eyes snapping to the rearview. “Where?”
“Right side,” Lucian repeated. “The shirt held it during the run—but it’s bleeding through now.”
“She didn’t say anything,” Vex muttered, reaching for the medkit behind the seat. “Not a damn word.”
“She never does,” Eli said quietly, already clearing space and unsealing gauze with shaking fingers.
“Go!” Lucian barked.
Ash started the engine and slammed the accelerator. The tires spun, then caught traction. The van surged forward into the rain-slick dark. They were heading for Sinclair Dominion Hospital.
And Raven, finally, had nothing left to hide.
En Route to Sinclair Dominion Hospital
Lucian stared at the wound—a jagged, wet gash just beneath the curve of her right shoulder. His stomach twisted. It wasn’t just the blood, or the depth of the cut. It was what it meant. She’d taken that hit for him. Fought through a storm. Driven them out with a blade in her body—and hadn’t said a word. That silence gutted him more than the wound itself. She hadn’t flinched, hadn’t complained, hadn’t asked for help. Because for her, pain wasn’t something to acknowledge. It was something to outrun. Something to bury.
She had shielded him. Again. Without hesitation, without calculation—just instinct. And all he’d done was stand there, confused, demanding the truth like it was owed to him. Like knowing who she was mattered more than what she’d just done. The weight of that realization hit low and hard. While he’d searched her face for answers, she’d been bleeding. Protecting him. Carrying the fight on her back while he asked questions she didn’t have the breath to answer.
I should’ve known, he thought bitterly. I watched her bleed and still couldn’t see it.
Guilt struck low and deep, but it tangled now with something fiercer. Awe. Not the kind born of power, but of resilience—of someone too strong for her own good. She had bled in silence, driven in silence, protected in silence.
He couldn’t shake the image of her standing in the rain, spine straight, water carving paths down her skin, as if it could wash the violence away. But it hadn’t. She’d carried it with her, along with every scar she never named.
How many times had she done this before? How many wounds had she buried beneath black clothing and discipline? And worse—how many had he never even seen?
Lucian clenched his jaw. He was born behind glass and legacy; she was built from fire and shadow. He had power, but she had carried him through hell and never once asked for anything.
And in that moment, holding the strongest person he knew as she bled into his arms—he had never admired anyone more.
Sinclair Dominion Hospital | Emergency Bay
The van skidded to a halt outside the emergency entrance, tires screeching against the wet concrete. Before the vehicle had fully stopped, Lucian was already throwing the door open, Raven in his arms. Her skin felt colder now, and though her breathing remained steady, it was shallow. She felt lighter than she should. Like something vital was slipping away with every breath.
A team of trauma staff rushed out, alerted by Ash’s call on the private Sinclair channel.
“Hurry up!” Lucian barked. “A stab to the right shoulder—deep stab. She’s bleeding hard.”
The nurses moved fast. One reached for Raven, but Lucian held on a moment longer.
“She stays conscious,” he said firmly, eyes locking with the lead nurse. “Do you understand me? No sedatives unless absolutely necessary.”
“Sir, she needs evaluation—”
“Then do it while she’s awake,” he snapped.
But Raven stirred faintly in his arms, her voice barely audible.
“Lucian,” she murmured, eyes half-lidded. “Let them.”
He looked down at her, jaw clenched. “You should’ve told me.”
Raven gave the ghost of a smile. “Didn’t want to ruin your day.”
She coughed—wet, but controlled.
The nurse touched his arm. “Please. We’ve got her.”
Reluctantly, Lucian let her go. They wheeled her inside on a stretcher, blood trailing like a red thread behind them.
Ash, Vex, and Eli followed him into the waiting area. The automatic doors shut behind them, cutting off the rain, but not the tension.
Eli collapsed onto a bench, hands still shaking. “She was bleeding the whole damn time…”
Vex exhaled sharply. “She drove. She fought. Like nothing was wrong.”
Lucian didn’t speak. He was still staring at the spot where they’d wheeled her away.
He’d seen a lot of wounds in his life.
But none of them ever felt like they were his fault—until now.
He still couldn’t wrap his mind around how she had endured it. The stab had been deep, and yet Raven hadn’t flinched—not once, not even during the drive, not even when she shielded him. She hadn’t said a word.
Lucian’s jaw tightened, the guilt surging again. He should’ve seen it—the way she moved just a fraction slower, the tension in her frame that wasn’t just vigilance. He should’ve asked. Should’ve looked closer. Should’ve known. Instead, he’d let her bleed beneath the rain, silent and steady, while he focused on her silence like it was something to interrogate. And now, all he could do was hold her and wonder how long she'd planned to carry it alone.
“Eli,” he said quietly, “call my grandfather. Let him know we’ve had an incident.”
Eli blinked, then nodded and stepped away to place the call.
Lucian pulled out his own phone with damp fingers, his thumb hesitating for only a moment before tapping the contact.
He lifted the phone to his ear.
“Maxim,” he said when the line picked up, each word clipped with tension. “It’s Raven. She’s been stabbed. It’s bad—really bad.”
She had been willing to die for him. And he hadn’t even known who she was.
—To be continued.
