The Shot That Shattered The Night

"Moretti’s son?" Harper’s voice echoed in the cramped, blood-smelling car. "My mother gave her life to hide the son of the monster who killed her?"

Arthur nodded slowly, pressing a hand to his bandaged side. "Six years ago, Moretti had a brief affair with David’s sister. When she died in childbirth, Moretti wanted the boy sent to an orphanage—he didn't want an illegitimate heir challenging his legitimate sons. But David couldn't let his own nephew be thrown away. He secretly raised Leo as his own."

Arthur coughed, a terrible rattling sound. "When Moretti found out David had kept the boy, he ordered them both killed. Your mother stepped in because she believed no child should pay for the sins of their father."

He looked at Harper, his eyes pleading for understanding. "She believed every child deserved a chance to be good."

Harper felt a heavy, choking lump in her throat. She understood now. Her mother hadn't just been hiding a child; she had been protecting an innocent soul from being corrupted by a crime family.

"Then we have to finish what she started," Harper said, her voice finding a sudden, steel edge. She climbed into the driver's seat. "How do we get to St. Jude’s?"

The drive to the outskirts of the city took forty minutes. The storm had worsened, rain lashing against the windshield like angry fists.

St. Jude’s Orphanage loomed at the end of a long, unpaved road. It was a massive Gothic building of blackened stone, surrounded by high iron gates. The only light came from the bell tower, burning like a solitary candle in the dark.

Harper parked the car behind a row of overgrown hedges. Arthur managed to walk, leaning heavily on her shoulder. They moved through the heavy oak doors, slipping into the silent, cavernous main hall.

It was too quiet.

There were no children laughing. No nuns sweeping the floors.

"Wait," Arthur whispered, stopping in the shadow of a stone pillar.

Footsteps echoed from the corridor above. Heavy, measured boots.

A figure stepped onto the landing of the grand staircase. It was Father Thomas, the head priest. But he wasn't wearing his vestments. He was wearing a sharp suit, and in his hand, he held a radio.

Reversal: The church was compromised.

"Check the East Wing again," Father Thomas said into the radio, his voice cold. "The boy has to be here. Moretti wants him found before dawn."

Harper covered her mouth to silence her gasp. The priest had sold them out.

"Where would a six-year-old hide?" Arthur breathed in Harper's ear. "Think like a terrified kid. Where would you go?"

Harper remembered her own childhood. When the landlord banged on the door for rent, her mother would hide her in the one place no one looked.

"Up high," Harper whispered. "He’d go as high as he could. The bell tower."

They crept toward the spiral staircase leading upward. The stone steps were steep and narrow. As they reached the halfway point, a chilling sound stopped them dead.

It was the metallic snick of a gun's safety clicking off.

Standing at the top of the stairs, blocking the only entrance to the bell tower, was the Scarred Man.

He smiled, a jagged, ugly line across his face. "I told you, Arthur. You’re too late." He kicked a small, dirty stuffed bear down the stairs. It tumbled over the stone steps, landing directly at Harper’s feet.