Ethan stood his ground as the guard stepped forward, his gaze fixed and unyielding.
"What exactly is going on here?"
A man's voice sliced through the tension. The command in his tone brought Clara to a dead stop; the guards visibly stiffened, their postures turning rigid with respect—or fear. Yuri narrowed her eyes, her mind racing. What is he doing here?
The heavy doors to the training area stood open. Framed in the threshold was a man in a sharp business suit. He surveyed the room, his eyes moving from the perimeter guards to the men at the center of the floor. His presence was suffocating—a physical weight that Ethan felt settling over his shoulders.
Who is this guy? Ethan wondered.
"We were just having a friendly spar, Elder Brother," Clara said, her voice uncharacteristically measured.
The man didn't answer. He simply leveled a cold glare at her.
"The spar is off," Clara pivoted quickly. "We'll resume another time."
"We'll take our leave, then," Yuri added, stepping toward the exit.
"Leaving so soon, Ms. Yuri?" the man asked. His voice was smooth, but it held the edge of a blade.
"Hello," Yuri said shortly. Clara looked between them, surprised. "You two know each other?"
Yuri nodded. "He was a year ahead of me. The student council president."
Clara gave a small, knowing nod, but the man had already turned his attention elsewhere. "No fighting allowed," he stated firmly. Then, his eyes locked onto Ethan. "I know you."
Ethan shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir. I don't believe we've met."
"A concert. In Russia," the man prompted.
Ethan searched his memory for a moment before sighing. "I'm sorry, I don't recall any concert. Nor do I remember you."
The man merely nodded, seemingly unfazed. He turned on his heel. "Follow me."
As he walked away, Ethan glanced at Yuri. She gave him a subtle, encouraging nod. As Ethan moved to follow, Julian leaned in, whispering harshly in his ear, "Don't let your guard down."
Ethan nodded and trailed the man up the stairs to the upper floor, leaving Clara and Yuri to return to the main living area.
The man led him into a private lounge directly overlooking the training floor. The bodyguards remained outside, sealing the doors. Ethan stepped inside, the silence of the room ringing in his ears.
In the blink of an eye, the man spun around. A lightning-fast punch aimed straight for Ethan's obliques. Ethan's instincts screamed; he leaped back, narrowly avoiding the impact.
Kyokushin Karate? Ethan thought, his muscles coiling.
Before he could breathe, a straight punch whistled toward his face. Ethan slipped his head to the side, the wind of the strike brushing his skin. He jumped back again, his shoulders hitting the wall.
His form is perfect. Refined. Ethan dropped into a combat stance, his eyes tracking the man's every micro-movement.
The man didn't follow up. Instead, a small, dark smile played on his lips. "You haven't lost your touch."
Ethan froze. "What?"
"A few years ago, a certain someone vanished," the man said, turning his back to Ethan. He walked toward the window, looking down at the guards training below. "And now, here he is, standing in my living room. The Terminator Mercenary."
Ethan kept his expression a mask of stone. "Who are you?"
"I'm someone who worked with Yuri's aunt—or rather, Madison's mother," the man said. "That concert was a lie for the sake of the audience. Our meeting was a joint project between our families."
"I never saw you there," Ethan countered.
"My job was oversight. I visited once a month to ensure our investment was being handled properly. I remember watching you train."
"What do you want from me?"
The man smiled again, though there was no warmth in it. "Nothing. I simply wanted to see an old friend."
Ethan remained silent, waiting.
"That day... almost everyone died," the man spoke softly. "Except for you."
The words hit Ethan like a physical blow. "When?"
"You don't remember? Of course not." The man sighed. "Even my memories are a blur of carnage. I remember the bodies. Nothing more."
"Why can't I remember? and the same for you?" Ethan asked, his voice low.
The man took a deep breath, staring out at the horizon. "Do you think the man responsible would let us keep those memories? If you're alive, it's because he chose to let you forget."
"Who are you talking about?"
"A man whose silhouette is the only thing I can't scrub from my mind," he replied. He finally looked back at Ethan. "Give me your number. I'm digging into the past, and I want you to lend me a hand."
Ethan hesitated, the weight of the revelation crashing down on him.
"Think about it," the man conceded. "There's no rush. Meet me here, tomorrow after the summit."
"Can you at least tell me your name?" Ethan asked.
"Connor."
Ethan nodded and turned to leave. As he descended the stairs, his mind was a storm of static. Everything is a mess. First Jake, and now this.
He reached the bottom and headed back toward the living room where Yuri and Clara were sitting.
His past trailing behind him like a ghost.