Where Mercy Dies

Elena

Fear.

The cold bit into my bare feet as I ran.

Gravel. Blood. Wind slicing like knives.

I didn’t know where I was going. I just knew I had to get away.

From him.

From all of them.

My lungs burned, my legs shook, and somewhere deep inside, I knew something was wrong. Something more than just the horror of what I’d endured.

I stopped near the treeline, gasping for breath, cradling my stomach as a sharp pain twisted through me.

"No. No, please not now."

A soft whimper escaped my lips.

If he took everything from me, he wouldn’t take this. Not this. Not my child.

I slid down the trunk of a tree and curled into myself, shivering, shaking. Alone.

And then… a shadow moved in the distance.

Someone had followed me.

My heart stopped.

I thought ghosts only lived in memories.

But then he stepped out of the trees, and I realized—

Some ghosts breathe. Some ghosts bleed. Some ghosts look like men you once trusted.

“Hunter?” I choked, stumbling back. My voice cracked on his name like it was too fragile to carry the weight.

He looked older. Meaner. Alive.

I hadn’t seen him since before the world turned cruel. Before I was taken.

Before this cursed thing growing inside me.

“I thought you were dead,” I whispered.

“I was,” he said, expression unreadable. “Until you brought me back.”

I collapsed to the ground, knees scraped, blood smeared between my legs from the brutal escape and something… more.

Something that made me nauseous with guilt.

He knelt beside me, but I flinched when he reached for me.

“Don’t touch me,” I spat.

“Elena—”

“No! Don’t say my name like that. Like I’m still the same girl who waited for you. Who thought we’d—” I laughed, hollow and bitter. “We were supposed to go on our honeymoon, remember? Maldives. Red wine. Quiet mornings in silk sheets.”

He didn’t answer.

“And now?” I hissed. “Now I’m running barefoot in the dirt with the devil’s f***ing offspring in my stomach.”

Silence.

“I tried to make him understand,” I went on, voice trembling. “Tried to explain I wasn’t who he thought I was. That it wasn’t my fault. That I didn’t kill his precious Luna.”

My fingers dug into the earth.

“But he didn’t care. He wanted someone to blame. So he chose me. Over and over again.”

A tremor ran through me.

“He touched me. He took my pride away from me like a thief,” I whispered. “And I thought… I could survive all this and move on while raising his son secretly. Fool that I am.”

Hunter looked like he wanted to say something. He didn’t.

“I thought… maybe I could raise this misfortune child,” I said quietly. “Maybe it would be something good born from something rotten.”

I looked up at him, eyes hollow.

“But I was wrong. I can’t do this. I won’t.”

Hunter finally spoke. “Then we’ll make sure you don’t have to.”

“I don’t want to do anything anymore,” I whispered. “I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to run. I just… I want to die.”

The words came out hoarse, broken, barely more than a breath. But they were the most honest thing I’d said in days.

“I want to die,” I repeated, my hands pressing against my belly as if I could erase what was growing inside. “Me and this child. This thing he forced into me. I don’t want it. I don’t want to exist.”

Hunter didn’t move. The wind blew through the trees, cold and cruel like the world itself, and I curled into myself, wishing it would take me away.

Tears streamed down my face, hot, angry, endless. I didn’t even bother to wipe them.

I wanted the earth to swallow me, to choke on my sobs until there was nothing left.

“I begged him,” I choked out. “I begged him to believe me. To stop.”

My voice cracked so hard it hurt as I remembered the terrible scenes one after the other.

“But he didn’t. He broke me, Hunter. He tore me apart like I was nothing. He… he looked me in the eyes and ruined me anyway.”

A sob ripped through me. “He didn’t even blink.”

Hunter finally knelt beside me, his hands hovering near me, unsure.

“I let him,” I whispered. “I let him do those things. Again. And again. Because I I was powerless.” I shook my head.

The silence that followed felt like suffocation.

Then Hunter’s voice came, low, steady, but vibrating with fury.

“You don’t get to die, Elena.”

I lifted my head slowly, confused, broken.

He looked at me with eyes that burned. Not pity. Not softness. But purpose. A shared rage.

“Not yet. Not until you make him suffer the way he made you suffer. Not until he begs for your mercy and chokes on it like you choked on your screams.”

I stared at him, blinking through tears. “I can’t… I don’t have anything left.”

“You do,” he said. “You have pain. And that’s enough to start a war.”

He leaned in, his voice a whisper of vengeance. “You want to die? Fine. But not before he watches everything he built burn.”

And in that moment… a spark lit in my chest.

Small. Weak. But alive.

Because maybe dying wasn’t the worst thing that could happen.

Maybe watching him lose everything… Maybe that was justice.

Then he vanished. Right in front of me.

One second he was there, real, solid, furious and the next… he was gone.

A ghost.

I didn’t even have time to process what I’d seen.

Footsteps.

Rough. Approaching me with purpose.

Men, three of them emerged from the shadows. I barely had the strength to stand, let alone run. My limbs were too heavy, my vision blurred with tears and exhaustion.

One of them grabbed my face, his calloused fingers digging into my cheeks.

“Open,” he barked.

I tried to pull away. I screamed. I fought but I was too weak. My mouth was forced open, the pressure bruising, humiliating.

Then came the liquid. Bitter. Burning. Unfamiliar.

I gagged as it flooded my throat. I tried to spit, to vomit it out, but another hand clamped down over my lips.

“Swallow it,” one hissed. “All of it.”

I had no choice.

It scorched down my throat like acid. My stomach twisted instantly. Whatever it was, it wasn’t meant for healing.

I let out a sharp, wounded scream, a sound so raw it didn’t feel human and then the world tilted.

My legs collapsed.

And then, darkness.

Like a curtain falling on a girl who never stood a chance.