I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.
Patréon.com/emperordragon
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Chapter 125: Morning
The sun was barely up when Allison parked her car down the street from Isaac's house. The engine ticked softly as it cooled, but inside her chest, her heart was still racing.
She sat there for a long moment, staring through the windshield at the small, aging house. It looked ordinary — almost painfully so. The kind of place that shouldn't have anything to do with blood or hunters or death.
But her father's words wouldn't leave her.
He tore through both of them.
Allison shut her eyes, gripping the steering wheel. She didn't want to believe it. She couldn't.
Finally, she climbed out and crossed the short path to his porch. The steps creaked under her feet. She hesitated at the door — just long enough to consider turning around — before she knocked.
A pause. Then footsteps.
The door opened.
Isaac stood there. His eyes were tired, haunted, the same soft blue she remembered — but now dulled. His hair was messy, and there was a faint cut along his jaw that hadn't quite healed yet.
"Allison…" he breathed, startled.
She tried to smile. It faltered. "Hey. Can I come in?"
Isaac hesitated, then stepped aside. "Yeah, of course."
The living room was dim, curtains half-drawn. She could smell coffee, maybe sweat — and something faintly metallic underneath.
"You look…" she started, but stopped, because there wasn't a kind word that fit.
"I look like I haven't slept in a while?" he offered, trying for humor. It fell flat.
Allison nodded once. Then she looked him in the eyes and said quietly, "I heard."
His expression shifted — a flash of panic, then resignation. He didn't ask what she'd heard. He knew.
"Allison, I didn't—" he began, voice rough.
But she cut him off, trembling. "They were my dad's people, Isaac. Two of them. And you—"
"I didn't want to hurt anyone! The hunters came after me." His words cracked the air between them. "I didn't even know what I was doing. He—someone—made me do it."
Allison's eyes glistened. "Made you?"
Isaac ran a hand through his hair, pacing, his voice low and desperate. "There's someone out there. Controlling people. Making them lose control. He did it to me before — he did it to hunters — he's trying to start something. I swear to you, Allison, I didn't want this."
Allison stared at him. His voice — the rawness of it — pulled at the part of her that still believed him.
But another part — the hunter part — whispered that every killer believes his own story.
She swallowed hard. "You expect me to tell my dad that? That some mysterious person made you murder two of his hunters?"
Isaac flinched, his jaw tightening. "I don't expect you to tell him anything. I just need you to believe me."
Silence stretched. The morning light crept across the floor, catching the edge of her shoes.
"I want to," she whispered. "God, I want to."
Then she turned for the door. Her hand trembled on the handle. "But I don't know if I can."
When she stepped outside, Isaac followed to the porch, watching her walk away.
She didn't look back.
He didn't call out.
The air between them felt final — heavy with everything unsaid, and everything they'd both already lost.
Lucas's Perspective
The morning light washed over the Lockwood estate in gold. The dew still clung to the grass, and the air smelled faintly of pine and earth — the kind of stillness that promised a peaceful day.
Lucas was running his usual route around the garden, the rhythm of his footsteps steady and precise. Milo darted through the hedges nearby, a blur of joy and fur, chasing some imaginary rival with the determination of a soldier.
For a few minutes, Lucas let the routine steady his thoughts. But the peace was skin-deep. Beneath it, his mind was a storm.
Three hunters dead. Three innocent people killed by manipulation and madness of the puppet master that is still hiding in the shadows. You can bet the Argents are already sharpening their knives.
He took a sharp breath and increased his pace, as if he could outrun the weight of it.
This place feels smaller every day, he thought.
By the time he finished his run, the sun had fully risen. Milo barked once, triumphant, carrying a stick twice his size as if presenting the spoils of war. Lucas couldn't help but smile.
"Good job, soldier," he said, taking the stick and setting it aside before heading back inside.
Upstairs, the water ran hot and steady as he stepped into the shower. For a moment, he let the steam fill the room and his thoughts quiet. When he came out, he felt lighter — or at least, less burdened.
He was toweling off when his phone buzzed on the counter. The screen read: Unknown Number.
Lucas's brow furrowed slightly. Still damp, he picked it up and answered, his voice calm.
"Hello?"
A low voice — smooth, amused — replied, "It's nice to finally speak with you, Lucas. You have a beautiful house."
Lucas froze for a fraction of a second, then slowly turned toward the large window.
There, just beyond the estate wall, half-shadowed by the trees, stood the mysterious figure. A silhouette in black. Unhurried. Watching him.
Lucas's grip tightened around the phone, but his voice stayed even. "We could have talked a lot sooner," he said dryly, "if you weren't so shy."
There was a soft chuckle from the other end — faint, distorted by static.
"Oh, I prefer to watch before I speak. You can learn so much more that way."
Lucas's eyes narrowed. "Then you've seen enough to know this won't end well for you."
"Perhaps. But endings are overrated."
And then—a soft click.
The call cut off.
Lucas lowered the phone, gaze still fixed on the trees. The figure was gone. Vanished like smoke.
Milo padded into the room, sensing his tension, and sat by his foot. Lucas absently scratched the dog's head, eyes still scanning the line of trees outside.
The morning had never felt so quiet.
The hunter and the hunted — separated only by a wall of stone and a game that had just stopped being one.