Chapter 16 — The Price of Blood
The bounty worked faster than Scar expected.
And slower than he hoped.
By evening, the city had divided itself.
Not into good and bad.
Not into law and crime.
But into buyers and targets.
Names resurfaced. Old phone numbers rang again. People who hadn't mattered in years suddenly felt eyes on their backs.
Fear didn't scream.
It calculated.
Sam stood over three screens, fingers moving fast.
"First wave isn't professionals," he said.
"Freelancers. Desperate types. Small crews."
Jack cracked his knuckles.
"Easy."
Eva didn't look up.
"Easy kills make loud mistakes."
John leaned against the wall, listening.
"They're not meant to win," he said.
"They're meant to map us."
Sam nodded slowly.
"Every failed attempt teaches him something."
Silence followed.
John straightened.
"Which means," he continued,
"we let one get close."
Jack frowned.
"You volunteering?"
John shook his head.
"No," he said.
"He's coming for something softer."
The call came twenty minutes later.
A burner phone.
Single vibration.
Eva answered it without hesitation.
A man's voice—controlled, shaking just enough to be real.
"I know where she is," he said.
"Your mother."
Jack was already moving.
Eva raised a hand.
"Let him talk."
The man swallowed audibly.
"I don't want trouble. I just want the money."
John stepped closer.
"Where?" he asked calmly.
A pause.
Then an address.
Old. Poorly chosen.
Scar was testing reaction time.
Eva ended the call.
"They want us angry," she said.
"Rushing."
John nodded.
"So we don't rush."
They arrived separately.
Quietly.
The building was half-dead—lights flickering, paint peeling, the kind of place people stopped noticing years ago.
Three men inside.
Armed.
Waiting.
Jack went in through the stairwell.
Will took the back.
Sam killed the power.
Eva entered through the front door like she belonged there.
The first man reached for his gun.
He didn't finish the thought.
The second fired once—wild.
Jack took him off his feet and kept him down.
The third tried to run.
Eva stopped him.
She didn't ask questions.
She didn't need to.
When it was over, the apartment was silent again.
The men were alive.
That mattered.
John stepped inside last.
He looked at them—shaking, broken, realizing too late that the bounty had bought them nothing.
"Who sent you?" John asked.
One laughed hysterically.
"Everyone."
John crouched.
"Who paid you first?"
That stopped the laughter.
A name came out.
Not Scar.
Someone smaller.
A broker.
A root.
John stood.
"Good," he said.
"Now we know where to dig."
Across the city, Scar watched the feed end abruptly.
No screams.
No chaos.
Just silence.
He smiled anyway.
"They didn't rush," he said.
"That's disappointing."
An aide hesitated.
"Sir… the first hunters failed."
Scar waved him off.
"Of course they did."
He leaned back.
"They were never meant to win."
The smile sharpened.
"They were meant to knock."
Back at the safe house, the Knights regrouped.
Jack paced.
"They're going to keep coming."
Eva cleaned her blade.
"Let them."
Sam looked at John.
"We have a broker now."
John nodded.
"And after the broker?"
John's gaze hardened.
"After that," he said, we will make them despair from this world
Outside, the city held its breath.
Because now it wasn't about revenge.
It was about control.