VAUGHN

I wiped the blood from my hands with a strip of torn fabric ripped from the man's shirt, then dropped it into the mud like it was nothing more than trash. My mask was pulled up onto my head, shoving my hair back, while sweat trickled down my forehead, carving cold trails through the grime.

I had planned to take him out cleanly, silently.

But he ran.

And no one ran from me and lived.

"Is he dead?"

Lev's voice broke the hush, coming from behind me. He carried a can of kerosene in one hand and a burlap sack in the other, like some grim delivery boy.

"Not yet," I answered.

He hesitated. "Are you gonna burn him alive?"

There was a sliver of hesitation in his tone, as if Lev wasn't sure if he wanted to be a part of this anymore. I pulled the mask down over my face, hiding the faint smirk tugging at my mouth as I turned to face him.

"Would you rather I hand him over to Bratva?" I asked, voice low, measured.

Lev looked down, avoiding my eyes, shoulders tense.

I took a step closer, close enough to feel the fear radiating off him like a fever. "Finish it," I ordered, each word a blade.

Lev obeyed without another word. He poured the kerosene liberally over the broken man's body. The stench hit the air immediately, thick and oily.

The man stirred with a weak groan, his consciousness dragging him back into hell.

"What...what are you doing?!" he croaked, his voice cracking in terror. "Please... please, don't kill me. I'll help you. I swear. I swear on my life, X!"

He sobbed out my mistitle, the name I wore in places darker than this one. It didn't move me.

Nothing moved me.

Lev tossed the empty can aside and flicked open a lighter, the flame hissing alive. He looked at me once, silently asking for permission, for confirmation.

Normally, I would have finished the job myself — I didn't like leaving loose ends. But not tonight.

"Get it done," I said, turning away without a glance.

The man screamed as Lev dropped the flame, but the forest swallowed the sound hungrily, as if it had been waiting.

The fire roared behind me, eating evidence, names, faces, souls. That was the rule.

No names. No faces. No witnesses.

A cold wind slid through the trees, carrying with it the faint, oily scent of burning flesh. I walked slowly, letting the shadows bleed into my skin until there was no difference between them and me.

The woods here were old. They remembered.

They buried.

Beyond the tree line, the town buzzed obliviously. College students huddled in tight clusters near the downtown bars, laughing, drinking, sinning under the naive belief that the night belonged to them.

It didn't.

It never did.

I moved like a ghost, steps soundless, melting from shadow to shadow. The forest was second nature to me. The dark knew me — welcomed me.

In a few minutes, I would be out. Unseen. Untouched.

But then I heard it.

A voice, sharp and frantic, ripped through the night like a blade:

"What are you doing? Who are you? Let go of me!"

Female. Young. Near.

I tilted my head slightly, listening.

Then I shifted toward the sound, careful, deliberate, my boots silent over the mossy ground.

Through the thin, skeletal arms of the trees, movement flickered — a mass of blonde hair flashing like a flare under the sickly glow of a streetlamp.

A girl.

I edged closer, shrouded in the thinnest skins of mist and shadow.

She struggled against a man who clutched her wrist too tightly, his body slack and swaying, poisoned by liquor or worse. He muttered nonsense under his breath, words that smelled rotten.

Even from the distance, I could read her tension — raw and bright.

She was poised on the edge of flight, muscles tight, instincts screaming.

Her free hand fumbled at her purse, too slow, too panicked to be of any real use.

Her footing was wrong. Untrained. Vulnerable.

She would have been an easy kill.

But then —

She moved.

A sharp twist of her body, a flash of motion — she yanked free, bringing her stiletto down hard on the man's foot. He howled in pain, folding toward her — and she didn't waste a breath before driving her knee into his gut with brutal precision.

He collapsed, gasping.

I moved closer, still cloaked in the shadows but drawn to her.

She didn't gloat. She barely spared the man a glance as she stumbled backward, breathing hard, her body still trembling with leftover adrenaline.

Her golden hair stuck to her damp forehead. Her hands shook as she pulled out her phone, fumbling to dial — probably a ride.

I watched her intently, noting every small shift in her body language. That's when I noticed the change.

A stiffness. A heightened awareness.

She felt me.

She sensed me before she saw me.

It was strange. It was unusual, it was enthralling.

I had stalked countless prey. I had killed without hesitation. Yet not once had anyone felt my presence unless I wanted them to.

But she...

The way a deer feels the wolf watching it from the brush — she could feel me.

Her head snapped up. She scanned the darkness, hair whipping around her face, her body shivering almost imperceptibly.

The urge to toy with her clawed its way through me, sharp and exhilarating.

I let my hand drift to my mask — a simple thing, a black porcelain mask with white crosses for eyes and a stitched mouth, a symbol of Heathens, under the faint brush of moonlight — and tilted it just enough for a flicker of it to catch her eye.

A flash. A glimpse.

And gone in the next breath.

I saw the exact moment she spotted it — the tension that gripped her spine, the tremble that seized her fingers.

I smiled behind the mask.

She knew she wasn't alone.

She acted as if she had seen a ghost — and maybe she had.

She wasn't supposed to see me.

She wasn't supposed to cross paths with me.

She wasn't supposed to fall under my radar.

Most people would have bolted, blindly running for safety.

She didn't.

She planted her feet.

Ready to fight the dark itself if she had to.

From the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a man striding toward her.

My eyes narrowed behind the mask — I recognized him vaguely. Not well enough to place his name yet, but familiar enough to file away for later.

I watched her say something to him, her head tilting slightly while she still scanned her surroundings — still feeling that prickle at the back of her neck, still curious, still restless.

I memorized her face.

Etched it into the place where I kept things I didn't plan to forget.

We would cross paths again.

I slipped back into the woods, leaving her alone with her unease, her breathless dread, her primal understanding that something out there had watched her — marked her — and let her go.

For now.

-x-x-x-x-

This is the end of Chapter 5. That was intense, wasn't it? This is the first ever POV of Vaughn I had written. I was very nervous if I'd be able to portray him as I imagined. The silent stalker, the deadly killer. Let me know your views on his first appearance. What is Vaughn doing on Brighton Island? What is he pursuing? Stay tuned to find out!

Thank you for reading,

Nephthys.