The Black Sun Syndicate

Elias stood over the body, his breath shallow, his fingers tightening around the handle of the knife as the last traces of life drained from the man beneath him. The gurgling stopped. Silence took over. The blood on his hands felt heavier than the weight in his chest.

Dominic Graves watched from the shadows, his expression unreadable. "It's done," he said, stepping forward. His boots crushed the gravel beneath them, his presence suffocating.

Elias let go of the knife. His fingers twitched as he pulled away, stepping back as if he could distance himself from what he had just done.

"You're getting better at this," Graves said, the hint of amusement in his voice making Elias' stomach turn.

Elias didn't respond. His throat was dry.

Graves knelt down beside the body, tilting his head as he inspected the lifeless form. "The hesitation was still there, but you did it. And that's what matters." He wiped his hands on a handkerchief before straightening up. "Come on. We have things to discuss."

Elias followed, his legs feeling heavier with each step.

They entered the dimly lit warehouse, the scent of oil and dust filling the air. Graves poured himself a drink from a crystal decanter, swirling the liquid in his glass before speaking.

"You've done well, Elias," he said. "Better than I expected. Which is why I'm willing to make you an offer."

Elias remained silent.

Graves leaned forward, his voice dropping. "You owe me, Elias. That's a fact. But I'm a fair man. I believe in clearing debts. If you do something for me—one last thing—you'll be free. No more strings. No more obligations. You can walk away."

Elias clenched his jaw. "And what is it?"

Graves smirked. "I'll let you know soon enough. But for now, consider this a mercy. Most people don't get a way out."

Elias hated that Graves still held control over him, but he hated himself more for letting it happen. He had told himself he would never become like the man before him. But now, standing there, hands still stained with blood, he wondered if that line had already been crossed.

Graves set his glass down with a clink. "Now, let's talk about the police."

Elias stiffened.

"You need to rule them out," Graves continued. "Sheriff Cain, especially." He let out a low chuckle. "That man is as dirty as they come. Works for the highest bidder. And trust me, Elias, we've already placed our bid."

Elias frowned. "So he works for you?"

Graves shook his head. "Not directly. But he knows when to look the other way." He leaned in. "If they come knocking, stay calm. Say nothing out of place. Cain will know what to do."

Elias didn't respond.

Graves finished his drink, then straightened his suit. "I'll be in touch."

Then he was gone.

Elias stood there for a long time, staring at the empty glass Graves had left behind.

---

That night, Elias barely slept. The ghost of the man he'd killed lingered in the shadows of his home. His mind replayed the moment over and over—the hesitation, the final breath, the cold, empty silence that followed.

He washed his hands again, but the feeling of blood wouldn't leave.

Then, a knock at the door.

Elias' heart pounded. He took a steadying breath, then moved to open it.

Sheriff Cain stood on his porch, hat tilted slightly forward, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Behind him, two deputies waited, their faces unreadable.

"Evening, Elias," Cain said, stepping inside without invitation. His sharp eyes scanned the room before settling on him. "Mind if we have a word?"

Elias closed the door. "What's this about?"

Cain sighed, pulling out a folded piece of paper. "Jacob's wife came to us today. Said her husband never returned home after going out with you." He flicked the ash from his cigarette. "Says she's worried."

Elias' muscles tensed, but his face remained unreadable. "Jacob left me early that night," he said evenly. "We had drinks. Then he went home."

Cain studied him for a long moment. Then he nodded. "That so?"

Elias nodded once. "Yeah."

Cain took another drag, exhaling slowly. "I figured." He folded the paper again, tucking it into his coat. "Guess that's that."

Elias didn't move.

Cain turned toward the door but hesitated before leaving. "One last thing, Elias." His voice was lower now, more deliberate. "Whatever mess you're in, make sure you know who you're dealing with."

Then, without another word, he left.

Elias stood frozen, his pulse pounding in his ears.

The sheriff had known.

And he had let it go.

He wasn't sure if that made things better. Or worse.

But one thing was clear—this wasn't over.

Not by a long shot.

A heavy knock pounded against the door, shattering the morning silence. Elias stiffened. He had been expecting this, yet a part of him had hoped they wouldn't come. As he opened the door, Jacob's wife, Claire, stood before him, her eyes rimmed with sleepless nights. Her son, Oliver, clung to the fabric of her coat, his gaze cold and accusing.

"You're lying," Claire said, her voice shaking with anger and grief. "Jacob never came home that night."

Elias kept his expression neutral. "I already told the police—he left early. Maybe something happened on his way back."

Claire's hands curled into fists. "He wouldn't just disappear! You were the last person to see him, Elias. I know you two had problems before, but I never thought…"

She trailed off, as if saying the words aloud would make them real.

Elias exhaled. "Claire, I swear to you, I had nothing to do with this."

"Liar," Oliver muttered under his breath.

Claire's jaw tightened. "If I find out you had anything to do with this…" She shook her head, her voice breaking. "I swear, Elias, I will make sure you pay."

She turned and walked away, Oliver clinging to her. Elias watched them leave, his hands gripping the doorframe. He had prepared for this, but the accusation still cut deep.

As the door closed behind him, the weight of his actions pressed down harder than ever.

---

That evening, headlights swept across Elias' living room window. A black sedan rolled to a stop outside. He already knew who it was before the knock came.

Elias opened the door to find a tall man in a gray suit, his face cold, his presence heavy.

"Graves has a job for you," the man said, stepping inside. He handed Elias a thin folder. "You have 48 hours."

Elias flipped it open. The target: Anton Sorelli, a mid-level enforcer for the Vescari Syndicate—one of Graves' biggest rivals.

"The when and where are inside," the man continued. "He'll be at The Crimson Key tomorrow night. You get in, get close, and make sure he never walks out."

Elias closed the folder, bile rising in his throat. Another life to take. Another step into darkness.

"Graves says after this, your debt is cleared," the man added. "Finish the job, and you're free."

The words rang hollow. Free. What did that even mean anymore?

The man left without another word. Elias stood there, staring at the folder, his fate sealed in ink and paper.

---

Hours passed. Night bled into dawn.

Elias sat in his bathroom, the mirror reflecting the hollow man he had become. A loaded pistol rested in his palm, the cold metal pressing against his temple.

One pull of the trigger. One second, and it would all be over.

His finger hovered.

Then, a memory surfaced—his children's laughter, their hands reaching for him. The warmth of their hugs.

And then the pain. The face of Dominic Graves. The sight of his wife's lifeless body. The feel of Jacob's blood on his hands.

A fire ignited inside him.

No. He couldn't die. Not yet.

Not until Graves was dead.

With a slow exhale, he lowered the gun. His hands were steady now.

He knew what he had to do.

Forty-eight hours.

It was time to become the monster Graves had created.