Chapter 8 A KNIFE BENEATH THE SMILE

It was warm in the café.

too warm.

The windows let in sunlight, which glinted off of polished spoons, clinking coffee cups, and naive laughter.

Individuals conversed, grinned,and lived.

Cain took a seat in the center of it.

wearing a grey outfit. Look down. No coffee.

He had no place here. No more.

However, here was where they met. A table without a label in a peaceful area of the city. A contact who owed him three lives and half a soul called in for a favor.

It had been a straightforward message. "Are you looking for answers? Get to know the girl with the radiant grin.

Cain decided to wait.

and observed.

Her arrival time was 11:06 a.m.

mid 20s. well cut. No overt weapons.

However, her smile?

Too ideal.

managed.

Practiced.

deadly.

Cain didn't flinch despite his instincts screaming.

Like an old friend, she approached his table and took a seat.

She had brilliant eyes. Warm.

However, Cain had already seen that expression.

Victor wore the same expression as he toasted someone with red wine and ordered their execution.

Leaning in, the girl grinned.

Stryker, Cain. You don't appear to be a ghost.

He remained silent.

She went on in a calm, low voice. "Elise is my name. I was like you once. Before I gave the wrong man a grin.

Cain's fingers gripped the cup more tightly.

" Elise who?" he inquired.

Her voice was firm as she said, "Elise Marek." "Subject Five."

Cain stopped.

He was familiar with the names. The figures. The tests.

Victor's "kinship."

He thought all of them were dead.

failed.

Yet here she was. opposite him. alive. And a weapon-like smile.

"Why now?" he questioned.

Her smile wavered. Only a flicker.

"I took off running for many years. Names were changed. Faces. But eventually, they always find you.

Cain examined her intently, Her hands shook a little It's withdrawal, not terror.

They had given her a dosage. Most likely since early childhood. Enhancers. Concentration medications. conditioners of behavior.

She survived. Just almost. She remarked, "I witnessed what Malik did to your sister-in-law." "He's not working by himself. You are aware of that.

Cain gave a slow nod. "Winner."

Elise shook her head.

"No, it's worse."

Cain remained silent.

She bent over. A new group is emerging within the previous program's shadows. They identify as The Second Dawn. Their father was Victor, but Malik.

She hesitated.

"Their deity is Malik."

Then Cain sensed it.

Not fear.

Clarity.

Victor has produced more than simply murderers.

He'd created believers.

A cult of shadows.

Murderers with ideology.

Elise reached into her coat and slid a photograph across the table.

Cain started.

A boy no older than eleven.

Eyes dead. Smile wide.

Holding a severed ear.

The caption scribbled on the back: "Chosen at age 9. Already cleansed 4."

Cain clenched his jaw.

"How many?"

Elise whispered, "Hundreds. All across the world. Orphans. Refugees. Recruited. Indoctrinated. Victor's system didn't die. It evolved."

Cain felt the old rage rising.

But this wasn't just about revenge anymore.

This was prevention.

"How do I find them?"

Elise didn't answer right away.

Instead, she pulled back her sleeve.

A scar ran down her arm-deep, jagged, surgical.

"Malik carved a tracker into me," she whispered. "Said it was for safety."

Cain stared at it.

Then at her.

"You trust me to take it out?"

She smiled again.

It wasn't flawless this time.

It was human.

"No. However, I have faith that you will complete what I began if I pass away here.

They went quickly. During the Black Wars, Cain transported her to an underground medical facility that was once utilized by resistance fighters. No names. Not a record.

The blade sank into Elise's arm, but she didn't flinch.

Cain worked silently, driven by urgency and instinct.

The tracker was covered in protective gel and buried deep.

Not merely a GPS gadget.

A bomb.

With only a few seconds left, he turned it off.

After that, he crushed it beneath his boot.

For the first time in hours, Elise breathed. Cain recognized her for who she truly was. Not a weapon. Not a female.

A survivor of the same hell.

Later that night, as she rested, Cain opened the photo again.

The boy.

The eyes.

The smile.

It was familiar.

Too familiar.

Because it wasn't just any boy.

It was a photo from years ago.

From the same facility Cain had trained in.

And the boy?

Cain whispered aloud, voice shaking

"It's me."

He dropped the photo.

The edges curled from heat he hadn't realized his hands were burning with rage.

But the realization pierced him deeper than any blade.

Victor had used his image.

His legacy.

His mask.

To build The Second Dawn.

They didn't just believe in Malik.

They worshipped Cain's myth.

He staggered outside, into the alley.

Rain poured down like judgment.

He stared at the sky.

At nothing.

At everything.

He wasn't just fighting Malik.

He was fighting the monster they thought he still was.

Suddenly, footsteps.

Fast.

Close.

Cain turned, knife drawn.

A man in a black coat lunged.

Gun.

Suppressor.

A whisper of death.

Cain dropped low, blade up.

A scream. A thud.

The attacker hit the wall, bleeding.

Cain pinned him.

"You work for Malik?"

The man laughed through broken teeth.

"No, fool."

He spit blood.

"I worship you."

Then he triggered something.

His own heart stopped mid-sentence.

Cyanide.

Cain stood there, shaking, rain washing the blood from his hands.

They were everywhere.

Wearing his face.

Carrying his legend.

Killing in his name.

The nightmare wasn't that Malik had copied Victor.

The nightmare was that Cain had become the lie they all believed.

Back in the safehouse, Elise sat up in bed.

"Did they discover us?"

Cain gave a nod.

Her eyes were hollow as she gazed at him.

"Now what?"

Cain had a steely voice.

"We start at the root."

She blinked. "Victor?"

"No."

His eyes were frigid as he turned. "His financier."