In the backyard, Locke was sweeping scattered flower petals when the faint chime of a bell echoed through the quiet church grounds. The sound was unmistakable, subtle but sharp enough to cut through the stillness. Someone had entered the confessional. Almost immediately, the Ultimate Evolution Module fed him a notification—bronze-level prey detected on the other side of the partition.
A cold female voice followed, steady but edged with tension. "Father Locke?"
"It's me," he replied evenly, setting the broom aside as his attention sharpened.
There was a soft creak as a door opened on the opposite side, followed by another. Before he could shift his posture, a figure slipped into his compartment with startling speed. A warm body dropped directly onto his lap, the sudden contact compressing the already cramped space and sending the temperature rising in an instant.
Locke's breath caught. The pressure was undeniable, the weight real, and the sensation dangerously distracting. He could feel the firm curve of her hips and the strength in her thighs through the thin barrier of clothing, and for a brief moment, his mind blanked under the sheer physical shock.
Two slender arms draped themselves over his shoulders, pulling them even closer together. Her breath brushed against his face, warm and steady, while strands of golden curls fell forward, framing a face that was strikingly familiar. Fair skin, sharp cheekbones, deep-set eyes, and lips that carried a dangerous kind of allure.
Recognition clicked instantly. Fox—from the Assassin Brotherhood.
So they'd been tracking Wesley after all.
Locke's thoughts sharpened, but they didn't lose their edge of amusement. Was she here to kill him… or something else entirely? Either way, the outcome didn't change—he wasn't the type to sit still and take it.
Fox's hand moved down to his chest, searching, probing with deliberate intent. Her voice was low, controlled. "What did you tell Wesley?"
A surge of heat ran through Locke's body, irritation mixing with something far more primal. He'd lived long enough across two lives to recognize manipulation when he saw it, and this was blatant. Still, he forced his expression into mild confusion.
"Wesley? Who's that supposed to be?" he asked, playing dumb without hesitation.
Fox paused, clearly unconvinced, her fingers pressing harder as if trying to extract truth through force. The moment stretched, tension tightening between them until—
She found her leverage.
Locke inhaled sharply, his composure cracking for half a second before snapping back into place. "Hey—what do you think you're doing? This is a church. Get off me."
He pushed against her instinctively, but she resisted just as firmly. The narrow wooden booth creaked under the strain, the old bench groaning as if it might collapse at any moment.
The struggle intensified, confined and chaotic, until suddenly—
"Smack!"
The sharp sound echoed in the small space as Locke's hand came down hard against her.
Fox froze.
For a heartbeat, everything stopped. Locke leaned in slightly, his tone shifting into something half-teasing, half-reproachful. "Careful now. If God sees this, I'm the one who's getting blamed."
The moment shattered instantly as cold steel pressed against his temple.
"Move your right hand off my hip," Fox said flatly, her voice stripped of all warmth. "And your left—around my waist."
Locke raised both hands slowly, compliance coming easily for now. The gun wasn't what concerned him—it was the opportunity.
"I'll ask you one last time," she continued, her eyes locked onto his. "What did you say to Wesley?"
Locke exhaled lightly, shrugging as if the situation bored him. "Relax. We just talked about Sloan selling out his faith for money and sending you to kill innocent people. Then when Carlos figured it out, he asked you to train his son to kill him."
Fox blinked, the words hitting harder than any physical strike.
"What kind of nonsense is that?" she snapped, but the edge in her voice wavered.
"You've worked with Carlos for years," Locke continued, his tone calm but cutting. "So why don't you trust him? Maybe the Loom doesn't make mistakes, but people do. What if Sloan's just another selfish man hiding behind it?"
He didn't stop there, pressing forward before she could recover. "Carlos had evidence. Did you even give him a chance to explain? Or did you just follow orders like always? Training a son to kill his own father—does that sound righteous to you?"
Fox's grip tightened on the gun, but her expression betrayed her. Doubt crept in, subtle but undeniable.
"The truth is simple," Locke said quietly. "What Sloan really told you to do boils down to four words—kill and silence."
Her lips parted slightly, disbelief flickering across her face. Every word he'd spoken aligned with the chaos inside the Brotherhood, but the meaning behind it twisted everything she thought she understood.
Emotion told her to trust Sloan. Loyalty demanded it.
But logic… logic was starting to fracture that belief.
Locke watched the shift happen in real time. The hesitation, the conflict, the cracks forming beneath her certainty. It was enough.
He gently pushed the gun aside and met her gaze directly. "Your name's already come up. So has the repairman, the butcher, the Russian—everyone. The only one still clean is Wesley, and that's only because he hasn't finished his mission yet."
Fox shivered, the weight of his words settling deep.
The silence that followed wasn't empty—it was heavy, suffocating, filled with everything she hadn't allowed herself to question before.
Locke leaned back slightly, his tone softening just enough to draw her in. "You don't have to carry all that alone."
Fox's eyes flicked toward him, confusion still clouding them. "What are you—"
She didn't finish the sentence.
In one smooth motion, Locke shifted, turning the confined space to his advantage. The tension snapped, replaced by something far more overwhelming as her balance gave out and she fell forward against him.
A sharp breath escaped her as the world tilted, her thoughts scattering under the sudden shift in control.
The moment lingered—
Then broke.
…
By the time evening settled over Emma Church, the atmosphere had changed completely.
A round table had been set up in the backyard, dinner laid out in a quiet, almost domestic scene. Locke and Fox sat close together, their voices low as they spoke between bites of food.
"Sloan has to answer for what he's done," Locke said, his tone steady. "But the rest of you don't. Maybe you've made mistakes, but that doesn't mean you're beyond redemption."
Fox stared down at her plate, her thoughts clearly elsewhere.
"What matters now isn't punishment," Locke continued. "It's correction. If you want to make things right, then do it properly. Kill for redemption—not obedience."
Across the table, David glanced up from his dessert, his expression shifting between disbelief and irritation. He looked from Fox to Locke, then shook his head internally.
Unbelievable. Being good-looking really does let you get away with anything.
Fox remained quiet, absorbing every word.
"But if Sloan dies… what happens to the Brotherhood?" she finally asked.
"It keeps going," Locke replied without hesitation. "You take over."
Her head snapped up, surprise flashing across her face before it faded into deep contemplation.
The idea wasn't absurd—but it wasn't simple either.
Locke didn't push further, letting the thought settle.
The church bell rang again, breaking the moment.
David stood and moved to the door, returning shortly with two figures—Wesley and Carlos.
The moment Carlos stepped inside, his eyes locked onto Fox, sharp and wary. When she didn't react, his attention shifted to Locke, studying him carefully before taking a seat.
"I'll get straight to it," Carlos said. "How do you know so much about the Brotherhood, Father?"
Locke smiled faintly. "Didn't Wesley explain it?"
"He did," Carlos replied, though his tone made it clear he didn't believe it.
Locke could see the skepticism plainly. The idea of divine intervention clearly didn't sit well with him.
"Tell me something," Locke said, leaning forward slightly. "Do you not believe in God… or just not in me?"
Carlos didn't answer, but his silence spoke volumes.
Locke chuckled softly. "You trust the Loom of Destiny, but not something greater? That's an interesting line to draw."
He let the thought hang before continuing. "The Brotherhood exists because of the Loom. You follow its orders as executioners. Me? I'm something else entirely."
His gaze sharpened.
"I'm the one who decides what those orders mean."
Carlos frowned, considering his words carefully. After a moment, he asked, "Do you think I'm guilty?"
"Yes."
"And Fox?"
"Yes."
"And Wesley?"
"No."
Carlos hesitated, then asked the final question. "What about you?"
Locke leaned back, a faint smile forming as he answered without hesitation.
"I should be."
....
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