Chapter 24: The First Glimpse

Kaelen’s POV

The cold steel of the shotgun barrel pressed firmly against the side of my neck, where each pulse of my artery struck against the iron.

Rain crept down my temple, mixed with the sweat on my jaw. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t turn my head to look into the dark barrel, nor reach for the weapon concealed under my coat. My eyes stayed fixed on the glowing glass of the small cottage window, just inches away.

"You shouldn't have come alone, Vance," Hamish whispered, speaking in a voice so low and dangerous, hovering right next to my ear. The hammer of the gun remained fully cocked, just a very narrow margin away from going off at the slightest trigger. "I told you at the gate, you don't belong here."

"Pull the trigger then, Croft," I replied, my voice dropped to a flat, raspy vibration that rattled against the steel at my neck. "Do it out now, because if you don't... I'll go through that door."

“You think I won't?” Croft growled, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the stock. “I’ve spent four years repairing the damage your family has caused to this home. I’ve watched her shiver in the cold, draining her own health to keep her sister alive while you sat in your tower playing Titan. I’ll punch a hole in you, roll your body into the ocean before I allow you to destroy her life again.

“Look through the window, Croft,” I whispered, my breath slow and controlled, masking the roaring inferno in my chest. “Look at what’s happening inside.”

For a very short moment, the pressure of the steel against my neck eased just by one millimetre as Croft's gaze involuntarily turned towards the glass.

Inside the small, warm room, the yellow light of the oil lamp cast itself upon the low-beamed ceiling.

Valkyrie did not open the door upon hearing a strange sound on the porch. Her first reaction wasn't to fight or to run but to protect the boy. Kneeling by a small iron daybed situated in the corner of the room, carefully smoothing a faded blue wool blanket over the boy’s shoulders.

My heart did more than beat; it froze the blood in my veins.

She turned her head to whisper something to him, and the lamp light caught the side of her face in a sharp, breathtaking detail.

Four years of searching, of cold and suffocating hatred, gave way under the truth of her reality. She had become thinner, fragile in a way that caused my heart to hurt physically. Deep, dark shadows were carved beneath her eyes, her cheekbones sharply defined against her pale, rain-wet skin. But her beauty wasn't gone; it had been burned down to its purest, most devastating essence.

As she bent down to fix the child's collar, the wide neck of her dark knitted sweater slid down over her left shoulder.

There was a thin, jagged silver streak of three inches in length, glistening slightly under the yellow oil lamp, lying just above her collarbone.

I drew in a harsh, painful gasp which came out of my throat before I had time to stop it.

The scar.

I remembered the exact night she got it. It was four years ago, at the time of the chaotic midnight raid on our penthouse following the announcement of the data leak. My mother's private security guards broke through the doors, pushing her up against the sharp edge of the glass on the display console as they carried out the warrant. I pulled her away and held her bleeding shoulder against my chest while she cried, her tears soaking through my shirt as she whispered, "I didn't do it, Kaelen... please believe me, I didn't do it."

I didn't believe her; I had allowed my mother's lawyers to take her out into the rain.

And there it was—the permanent physical sign of my greatest failure, forever carved into her skin.

"She kept it," I choked out, the words coming back to me like a bitter and salty taste on my tongue. "She never had it laser-repaired; she kept the scar."

"She kept all the things you left her, Vance," Croft hissed, the barrel pressing sharply against my skin, snapping me out of the trance. "The scar, the broken sister, the corporate warrant, and the boy."

Inside the cottage, Lachlan reached up with his little hand touching Valkyrie’s cheek. When he spoke, she gave a small, sorrowful, incredibly gentle smile, then leaned down to kiss the top of his forehead, her dark hair falling around them like a curtain, shielding him from the dark world outside.

The boy turned his head in the direction of the window.

Those eyes, clear, brilliant, and striking silver.

He looked straight through the glass, straight past the rain, straight into the dark corner of the porch where I stood pinned against the frame. He wasn't frightened; instead, he stared at me with that terrifying and unusually sharp intelligence, his small fingers tightening around the black wooden chess rook he held in his hand.

"He has my eyes, Croft," I whispered, a single tear carving a warm and scalding path down my wet cheek. "He has my eyes."

"He has her heart," Croft said coldly, and tightened his thumb on the trigger guard. "You're going to turn around, go down those steps, and leave this town before—"

Inside the room, the oil lamp suddenly flared up violently, spitting out a stream of dark black smoke.

Valkyrie stood up abruptly, her posture locking into complete, rigid terror. She turned towards the front door, her eyes wide, picking up the weak reflection of the porch light in the glass.

She moved slowly, trembling towards the entryway, at the same time reaching a hand into the pocket of her cardigan.

"Hamish?" Her voice echoed through the thin wood, shaking with fear and filled with terror, but fierce enough to defend her child right up to the very end. "Hamish, who is it out there? Could it be... could it be the men from Melbourne?"

As Croft drew a sharp breath, the cold steel against my neck moved slightly.

Before saying anything, I took action.

In a sudden and violent movement, I drove my left elbow into Croft's ribs and at the same time turned my body inward. The shotgun then went off with a loud and thunderous BOOM, blowing a sharp hole through the porch rafters above us, sending us a rain of splintered wood and sparks.

I grabbed the hot barrel of the gun out of Croft's hands and threw it into the dark, wet bushes below the porch.

Croft moved back against the rail, breathing heavily, but I didn't turn to look at him.

I spun around, lifted my heavy leather boot, and kicked the latch of the front wooden door wide open.

The door smashed inward with a loud crash, slamming against the plaster wall.

The cold ocean wind rushed through the entrance, knocking out the oil lamp and throwing the room into darkness.

Valkyrie stayed where she was in the middle of the living room, her movement halted because the only light coming through was the weak silver glow of the moon shining through the storm clouds.

Our eyes locked.

Four years of silence, lies, and blood were all gone in one terrible second.

She looked at me, her hands trembling violently at her sides, breathing in quick, frightened bursts as my shadow fell upon her floorboards.

"Kaelen," she whispered, her voice breaking into a thousand shattered pieces.

As I moved towards her, a heavy and violent thud was heard from the dark hallway behind her.

A long, flatline alarm sounded from Chloe's ventilator tube, and a dark figure stepped out from the shadows in the back bedroom, placing a shiny steel scalpel directly against Chloe's pale and trembling throat.

My mother’s lead mercenary smiled in the moonlight.

“Step back, Mr Vance,” the man grunted, pressing the blade deeper until a drop of crimson blood appeared on Chloe's skin. “Or her sister dies right here in front of you.”