Novel & Cerita Solemn Stranger

I murmured excitedly, and I was about to begin when there was a loud knock on the door, which compelled me to stop eating. "Such a bother," I said, and with a heavy heart, I was forced to abandon my food to check who was at the door. Interestingly, as I opened the door, I discovered a foreigner, possibly in his teen years. "Can I help you?" I asked, perplexed, seeing the young man's good looks. "Yes, I'd like to know if this is Anita Santillan's house." He inquired, smiling and speaking in a thick British accent, and he's really cute!

Curiosity punched into her system, and she called, “Who are you? Do you live nearby? And what are you doing here at this hour?” “He’s coming for you… too,” the stranger said without turning to face Heather. “Who?” “He’s coming for you too… he’s coming for you too… he’s coming for you too. And this time, he’ll not leave. He’ll eat, he’ll roast, and you’ll cry and die,” the stranger chuckled, a maddening noise that reverberated. Heather covered her ears, afraid if she listened anymore, she’ll consider herself a demented cow.

The raspy voice that belonged to the tattooed muscular man said pressing the revolver even harder on Willy’s left temple. Willy detected a shakiness in the bald muscular man’s once confident raspy voice. “Now I wouldn’t recommend that,” the cold distinctive voice of the new-comer said again. Who else could rob the confidence off any man? Willy turned to confirm, it was indeed the dark cold figure of Oswald the Stranger! The bald muscular man backed away slightly, he now pointed the revolver at Oswald the Stranger. The Stranger was wearing his customary jet black suit with a cold sly smile on his face.

He looked to be in his late fifties. His silver hair was neatly combed despite the storm. There wasn’t a trace of panic on his face. Only confidence. “You’ve gotten older,” Damien said. “So have you.” The stranger smiled. “But unlike me…” “…you’ve become sentimental.” His eyes drifted toward Elena. “A dangerous weakness.” Damien stepped forward, placing himself between the stranger and Elena. “You came all this way to talk?” “I came to reclaim my property.” Daniel’s jaw tightened. “I’m not your property.”

Low, distant, and unfamiliar. And for the first time since Damon returned home, peace no longer felt certain. Somewhere in the marketplace crowd had walked a man who stirred fate itself. A hooded stranger. With a scent like iron and smoke. And a bond that felt like standing at the edge of something dangerous. I lifted my chin slightly, already knowing one thing with certainty: If he had slipped into our territory once…….He is a threat And this time, we are ready.

He slowly lowered his hand, his bloodshot eyes darting up to the stranger. “Who the fuck are you?” Adrian spat, trying to salvage his bravado. The stranger didn’t flinch at the profanity. Instead, his smile widened just a fraction, though the amusement never reached his eyes. Those eyes—a striking, pale storm-gray—were fixed entirely on Adrian, and they were utterly dead. “I’m the bloke whose table you are currently occupying,” the British man said pleasantly. He leaned down slightly, bringing his face closer to Adrian’s level. When he spoke again, the polite, aristocratic warmth vanished completely, replaced by an icy, lethal whisper.

The stranger was Jaxon Devereaux. I'm now utterly screwed.

Elliot asked, his voice low, steady. The stranger tilted their head, smiling faintly. “I suppose you could call me… the overseer.” “The overseer of what?” Elliot demanded. Their smile widened, but their eyes remained cold. “This,” they said simply, gesturing around them. “The judgment. The reckoning. Call it what you will.” Elliot’s pulse quickened. “So you’re the one behind this. The notes. The deaths. It’s you.” The stranger’s expression didn’t falter. “You’re quick to accuse, but I haven’t touched a single one of you. You’re doing this to yourselves.”