The device lay cold in Kai's palm.
It was small—too small for the kind of weight it carried. No sharp edges, no flashing alarms, nothing that screamed danger. And yet, the moment he'd touched it, something deep in his chest had tightened, like an old wound recognizing the knife before it struck.
The screen had gone black.
Not dead. Just… waiting.
Kai tilted it slightly, catching his reflection on the dark surface. His face looked older than it should have. Not because of time—but because of what time had taken from him.
Around him, the room was still.
Not peaceful. Still.
The kind of silence that came after something important had happened, when the world was holding its breath to see what you'd do next.
Jax was leaning against the far wall, arms folded, boots planted like he was ready to move if things went sideways. His eyes never left Kai—not curious, not panicked. Just alert.
He knew better than to joke right now.
Kai's fingers slowly curled, enclosing the device in his fist. The metal felt colder the longer he held it, as if it didn't belong to the room—or to him.
Jax finally broke the silence.
"So," he said quietly, "that thing just flipped your world upside down, didn't it?"
Kai didn't respond.
Not because he didn't hear him.
Because answering would mean admitting it.
He took a slow breath through his nose, forcing his thoughts to line up instead of crashing into each other. "It confirms something," he said at last.
Jax straightened a little. "Which is?"
"That this wasn't random."
The words hung there.
Jax's jaw tightened. "You mean the incident."
Kai nodded once.
No need to say more. They both knew what that word carried. The night everything changed. The moment normal life stopped being an option.
Jax pushed himself off the wall. "So they're watching you."
"Not just watching," Kai replied. "Guiding."
Jax frowned. "That's worse."
Kai didn't argue.
He turned the device over in his hand, thumb brushing the smooth edge where a seam barely showed. There were no logos. No serial numbers. Whoever made it didn't want credit—or blame.
"It doesn't give orders," Kai continued. "No threats. No countdowns."
"Then what does it do?"
"It points."
Jax blinked. "Points where?"
"Threads. Connections. Names that don't exist anywhere official." Kai paused, then added, "And one that does."
That got Jax's full attention.
He stepped closer. "You're telling me this thing just casually dropped a real name?"
"Yes."
"And you recognized it."
Kai slipped the device into his pocket, like putting away a weapon you weren't ready to use yet. "I wish I didn't."
Silence returned—but heavier now, pressing down on the room like a storm cloud that hadn't started raining yet.
Jax ran a hand through his hair. "Alright. So what's the move?"
Kai walked toward the window, every step measured. Outside, the city stretched endlessly—lights blinking, cars moving, people living their lives like nothing was wrong.
Like the ground beneath them wasn't cracked.
"The move," Kai said slowly, "is not doing what they expect."
Jax leaned on the back of a chair. "And what do they expect?"
Kai stared out at the street below. "For me to rush. To react emotionally. To make noise."
Jax snorted softly. "You saying you're not emotional right now?"
Kai didn't turn around. "I'm saying I'm not careless."
That wiped the humor off Jax's face.
Kai continued, voice calm but edged with steel. "They think grief makes people predictable. That anger shortens patience."
"Doesn't it?"
Kai's reflection stared back at him from the glass. His eyes were steady. Too steady.
"It sharpens mine."
Jax folded his arms again. "So you're planning to do nothing."
"For now."
"That's your idea of strategy?"
"It's how you make hunters nervous," Kai said. "You stop running."
The device vibrated once in his pocket.
Just once.
Not an alert. Not a message.
A reminder.
Jax noticed. "You gonna check that?"
Kai shook his head. "Not yet."
"Why not?"
"Because the moment I do," Kai said quietly, "I step onto their board."
He turned back to face Jax. "And I don't plan on playing by their timing."
Jax studied him for a long moment. Then he exhaled slowly. "You've changed."
Kai didn't deny it.
"Yeah," he said. "They made sure of that."
Another pause.
Outside, a siren wailed in the distance, then faded. Life went on, ignorant and uncaring.
Kai clenched his fist once, feeling the outline of the device through his jacket.
Vengeance wasn't loud.
It wasn't fast.
It didn't announce itself.
It waited.
And when it moved, it made sure there was no way back for the people who had started everything—no escape, no rewriting history, no pretending it was all a mistake.
Kai lifted his gaze.
"Tell the others to stay close," he said. "But quiet."
Jax nodded. "And you?"
Kai's lips curved—not into a smile, but something colder.
"I'm going to let them think they're in control."
The device vibrated again.
This time, Kai smiled.