Chapter 4 THE BLACK LIST

It wasn't just names on the list; it was a memory. Every page had the past on it, like faces and scars burned into Cain's brain. Each name felt like a wound, with a voice that would scream tonight. Under a single light, Cain stared at the open notebook. The black leather was damaged and worn. He traced the names like they were on gravestones. Kellan's dead. Veselov – done. Next: Mikhail Aranov. Cain circled the name.

Aranov had been Victor's guy in the East Bay for years, handling weapons through shady construction deals, covering it all up with fake permits and bribes. Cain remembered him laughing next to his dad's body, wiping blood off his fancy gloves like it was wine.

He wasn't just a name. He was the target.

Cain shut the book, grabbed his gun, and strapped the notebook to his chest under his jacket, close to his heart. It felt like armor made of ghosts.

The plan was to shut down the warehouse by the East Bay waterway.

But as Cain squeezed through the rusty fences, he saw the cameras still blinked. Guards smoked on balconies, and lights flickered inside.

Aranov was there.

Cain moved like a shadow, staying low, seeing the security beams and the patrols, and then scaled the fire escape. Quiet. Focused. Numb. Through a broken window on the third floor, he slipped into an old office with peeling paint and broken cabinets.

Voices mumbled below. Someone chuckled and a bottle broke. Stupid music played.

Cain crept ahead to a steel door at the end of the hall. The voices got louder. He quickly planted a small explosive on the lock.

Pop. Like a finger snap.

The door flew open, and so did hell.

Aranov sat in a leather chair, surrounded by four guys. They froze when Cain walked in.

"You," Aranov said slowly, standing up. "I've heard about you. You made your mark."

Cain didn't say anything. He raised his gun and fired once.

The guy on Aranov's left dropped. Then everything went crazy.

Someone jumped at Cain, who grabbed the attacker's arm, snapped it, and threw him into a table.

Another guy grabbed a weapon. Cain shot him in the hand and then the neck.

Now only Aranov was left, gasping, with wild eyes.

I knew your father, Aranov said, trying to sound tough. He died begging.

Cain stepped forward, his eyes calm but full of rage. No, he was betrayed and died.

Aranov backed up against the wall. Victor will bury you.

Cain stopped right in front of him. He already did.

Then he slowly slid the blade into Aranov's side just enough to make him bleed the truth.

Cain pulled out a photo and held it up to Aranov's face.

"My mother. Say her name."

Aranov whimpered, "I... I don't remember-"

Cain cut him again. "Say it."

"L-Lena."

"Her last words?"

Aranov broke. "I don't know! I didn't...I didn't kill her-"

"But you watched."

Cain stepped back and let him fall. "I don't need to kill you," he said softly. "You'll die long before your body does."

He turned and walked away, leaving Aranov bleeding, crying, Lena's name like he hoped it would buy him forgiveness.

Back at the safehouse, Cain crossed another name off the list. Each mark bled into the paper. The ink was blurring, like the notebook wanted to forget.

He stared at the list. Six names left. Some were ghosts. Others walked free. All had blood on their hands.

But Cain felt like something had changed. It wasn't just revenge anymore.

It was changing him, everything he touched. The deeper he went, the harder it got to remember the boy who buried his parents.

Now he was just the man digging graves.

In an underground room with screens and fancy stuff, Victor Rykov stood at a massive table. Six men sat around it – survivors, monsters in suits.

"Cain is moving faster than we thought," Victor said, tapping Aranov's file. "Two down. But are you sure about this idea?

he asked nervously.

One man replied. "He's a ghost, but ghosts can be burned."

Victor nodded. "He will be. But not yet."

He turned and put a folder on the table – thick, sealed in red. It said: "Project Black List."

Victor opened it slowly. Inside were photos, reports, profiles – but not of Cain's enemies. They were of Cain himself.

"When the hunter is now is now the prey, we'll see how he responds, Victor muttered

Cain woke up three days later to a sound he hadn't heard in a long time: a kid crying.

He jumped up with his gun. It was coming from the hall. He moved quietly, looking around, but there was nothing. No kids. only quiet.

Then he found a black envelope on the kitchen table. His heart racing, he opened it. Inside was just one paper. His list. Line by line.

All the names. But someone had written one name at the bottom in red ink:

CAIN STRYKER

He stared at it for a long time.

Then he saw another paper hidden underneath. One sentence:

"You're not the only one with ghosts."

Cain dropped the envelope and stepped back. Someone had been here. Inside his safe place. Inside his head. The game had changed.

The prey had teeth.