Chapter Text
The leather couch creaked beneath Maddox as he shifted uncomfortably. The study was dimly lit, illuminated only by the crackling fireplace that cast long, dancing shadows across the ornate walls. Across from him sat the Russian man, his weathered face revealing nothing as he regarded Maddox with calm, calculating eyes.
The silence stretched between them, heavy and oppressive, before Maddox finally broke it.
"Who are you?" he asked, his voice rougher than he intended. "Really."
The man's lips quirked into something that wasn't quite a smile. "A friend of your father's," he replied, his Russian accent curling around the words. "Though that was many years ago."
"That's not an answer."
"No," the man agreed. "It isn't."
Frustration coiled in Maddox's chest, tightening with each evasion. The massive library with its towering bookshelves and antique furniture suddenly felt suffocating, like the walls were inching closer with each passing second.
"You bring me to... whatever this place is," Maddox said, gesturing to the elegant surroundings, "and now you're just going to sit there being cryptic?"
"Would you prefer I lie?" the man asked, his voice steady, unperturbed by Maddox's growing agitation.
"I'd prefer the truth."
The Russian adjusted the cuff of his jacket, his movements deliberate and precise. "The truest answer, for now, is that I'm someone with a long memory. Someone who may have a few of the answers you need."
"Names are flexible, Maddox," he continued when Maddox's frown deepened. "They don't reveal half as much as you think."
Maddox's fingers dug into the armrests, his knuckles whitening. "Do you have answers about everything that's happened to me? About Elizabeth?" He nearly choked on her name, the taste bitter on his tongue. "About what they want with me?"
The man paused, studying Maddox carefully. The silence tightened the knot in Maddox's stomach. "Perhaps," he finally said. "But clarity is rarely simple. And rarely pleasant."
The last threads of Maddox's patience snapped. "Nothing in my life is simple anymore!" he burst out, leaning forward in his chair. "There were men in my house—sitting there like they belonged, talking with my parents. Men I'd never seen before. And when I asked about them, all I got were vague answers. 'Old family friends,' they said. But I'd never seen them before in my life."
He stood abruptly, unable to contain the restless energy crackling through him. "Then I find strangers following me at school, at work—watching me. And just when I thought I could escape it all, leave it behind me—I moved to Florida for a fresh start. For her." His voice caught, the wound still raw and bleeding. "Elizabeth. The one person I thought I could count on."
The memory of her betrayal hit him with physical force. The phone call he'd overheard. The gun in her hand. The look in her eyes that held no love, no remorse—only cold calculation.
"She betrayed me," he continued, his voice dropping to something raw and broken. "She aimed a gun at me. All I wanted was to start over. She was supposed to help me—she said she loved me—and I believed her. Then she just..."
His words faltered, the emotions too overwhelming to contain. The anger that had propelled him suddenly crumbled, leaving behind the grief he'd been desperately trying to outrun.
Maddox's throat tightened as tears burned at the edges of his vision. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, as if that might push back the tears. But the dam had broken, and all the confusion, the heartbreak, the sense of being tossed around like an expendable piece—it poured out in stuttered breaths.
"I—I can't fix any of this," he managed between shaky inhales. "I keep trying to survive, but everywhere I turn, someone else is there to use me, or threaten me, or—"
The Russian man stood silently, allowing Maddox's breakdown to fill the room. He didn't offer empty comfort or meaningless platitudes—he simply waited, his presence steady and unwavering as the storm raged.
At last, the tears subsided to shaky breaths. Maddox's shoulders slumped with exhaustion, the emotional outburst leaving him drained.
The man inclined his head, his voice subdued when he finally spoke. "That's quite a burden you're carrying," he said. "The question is... do you want to know?"
Maddox blinked, lifting his gaze to meet the man's. The question hung in the air between them, weighted with implications Maddox couldn't begin to grasp. Doors that, once opened, could never be closed again.
Did he want to know? Really know?
The truth about what was happening? About Elizabeth? About his own life?
Or would knowing only bring more pain, more confusion, more danger?
Fear gripped him, cold and unrelenting. But fear quickly gave way to anger—anger at being manipulated, at being toyed with, at being denied the very answers dangled in front of him.
"You ask me that now? After everything I've been through?" Maddox's voice came out harsh, brittle. "Enough. I've had it. I want out."
The Russian's expression remained unreadable. "You're sure?"
"Take me back to the bridge," Maddox demanded, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand. "The place your driver found me. I—I don't want to be here another minute."
The man hesitated, then nodded once, as if he'd expected this all along. "Very well."
He pressed a small switch near the fireplace, and moments later, a tall courier—another silent, suited attendant—appeared. Without another word, the Russian led Maddox through the cavernous halls of the mansion, their footsteps echoing as they descended a sweeping staircase and exited into the cold night air.
A sleek black car waited outside, the engine already running. The courier opened the passenger door, and Maddox slipped inside, barely acknowledging the man who had brought him here. The Russian didn't accompany them; he simply stood on the mansion steps as the car pulled away, the estate's gates closing behind them with a quiet clang that felt oddly final.
In the back seat, Maddox pressed himself against the window, staring at the passing darkness. The silence inside the car was overwhelming, broken only by his ragged exhalations. A twisting tension coiled in his gut; he didn't know what he would do at the bridge, but it felt like the only decision in his control.
They arrived at the quiet stretch of road where the driver had found him earlier. The bridge loomed ahead, a mass of steel and concrete that held too many painful memories. The car pulled to a stop, and the driver glanced over his shoulder.
"Here we are."
Maddox felt oddly distant, even from his own body, as he opened the car door and stepped out onto the pavement, avoiding the driver's gaze.
The driver studied him for a moment, his weathered face half-hidden in shadow. "You know," he said quietly, "sometimes we run toward darkness because it's familiar, not because it's right." He paused, hands still resting on the wheel. "The hardest truths to face are the ones we already know but refuse to see."
The words hung in the air between them, layered with meanings Maddox couldn't yet comprehend. With a slight nod, the driver turned his attention back to the road.
The bitter wind clutched at him, biting against his cheeks as he stood there. Across the bridge, the water churned in the same shadowed rush as before—the void that had called to him earlier, offering an escape from his pain.
The driver nodded slightly before turning the car around. The vehicle made a slow U-turn, its headlights briefly illuminating Maddox's still form before it disappeared into the night.
Alone again, Maddox remained motionless, listening to the wind howl through the bridge's girders. He waited until the taillights vanished completely, until darkness swallowed them up entirely.
The instant they were gone, his resolve snapped into focus.
Without a second's hesitation, he whirled and broke into a run—not toward the bridge, but in the opposite direction.
Toward the mansion.
His lungs burned as he sprinted along the roadside, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Each footstep hammered on cracked asphalt, and the stars overhead blurred as he pushed himself harder, faster.
Let the mysterious Russian man vanish into his cryptic estate. Let Elizabeth remain a dagger in his heart.
For now, Maddox needed something solid to cling to, something real, something that wouldn't dissolve into more questions, more lies, more betrayal.
Heart pounding, he ran, chasing the comfort of certainty, of belonging, even if it was an illusion.
In that moment, denial felt like the only refuge left.
And so he ran into the night, desperate for any anchor to save him from drowning in the truth he didn't want to face.