The Eyes
The man had been running for too long.
His breath tore through his throat as he pushed himself down another empty street, shoes slamming against wet pavement. Every few steps he looked back, hoping—praying—that the footsteps behind him had stopped.
They hadn’t.
Ivan Blackwood followed at a steady pace.
Not running.
Just walking.
That was the worst part.
The man stumbled around another corner, nearly slipping on the damp concrete. His chest burned as he forced himself forward.
“Please!” he shouted hoarsely without even looking back. “You don’t have to do this!”
Ivan said nothing.
People always tried to negotiate when fear finally caught up to them. It was almost predictable.
The street narrowed into a darker path ahead, the faint sound of rushing water growing louder.
The man ran toward it anyway.
A few seconds later he stopped so abruptly that he nearly fell forward.
River.
Black water moved slowly under the pale glow of distant streetlights. The current wasn’t violent, but it was deep enough to swallow anyone foolish enough to jump.
Behind him, Ivan’s footsteps finally stopped.
The man turned around slowly.
For a moment, the only sound between them was the quiet movement of the river.
Ivan stood a few meters away, hands relaxed at his sides, expression unreadable.
“You should have kept running,” Ivan said calmly.
The man shook his head frantically. “Listen, I can pay you. I swear. Whatever they promised you, I’ll double it—triple it—”
Ivan tilted his head slightly, studying him like a problem already solved.
“It was never about money.”
The man’s voice cracked. “Then why—”
Ivan reached for the knife.
The movement was smooth, controlled.
The man backed toward the edge of the river, panic taking over now. “Wait—wait—please!”
Ivan raised his arm.
And then—
Something sliced through the air.
A flash of metal.
Before Ivan could react, the blade struck.
The man’s words died in his throat. His eyes widened in shock as his body collapsed onto the ground beside the riverbank.
Silence fell instantly.
Ivan froze.
That hadn’t been his knife.
Slowly, his gaze lifted.
Across the narrow path, half hidden in darkness, stood a figure dressed completely in black.
The streetlight barely reached them, but Ivan could still see one thing clearly.
Eyes.
Sharp. Calm. Watching him.
Not afraid.
Not even surprised.
For a brief second, the world seemed to pause between them.
Then the figure moved.
They turned and ran into the darkness of the street beyond the river path.
Ivan reacted instantly, stepping forward and following the direction they had gone.
But by the time he reached the corner, the street was empty.
No footsteps.
No shadow.
Nothing.
The night had swallowed them whole.
Ivan walked back slowly to the riverbank.
The body lay motionless where it had fallen, the knife embedded perfectly.
Precise.
Professional.
Ivan crouched beside it, studying the angle of the blade.
Clean throw. No hesitation.
Whoever had done it knew exactly what they were doing.
But that wasn’t what lingered in his mind.
It was the eyes.
Cold.
Focused.
Completely unafraid of him.
Ivan straightened slowly, looking once more toward the dark street where the figure had disappeared.
A strange thought crossed his mind.
Not anger.
Not irritation.
Curiosity.
Who was that?
