Chapter 44: High Noon
At the same time the Deputy was heading back to the sheriff's office, on the western side of the city, the Red River Stockyard sat like a scar across Denton's west end.
Steam hissed from high pipes along the branding sheds, and the scent of blood, bile, and scorched hide clung to the air like smoke after a fire.
Cattle lowed in tight pens behind steel fencing, workers moved like ants—tired, twitchy, and easy to bark at.
Most of the town's wealth flowed through these gates. And all of it led to the brick-faced manor nestled dead center, rising above the pens like a pulpit over a congregation.
Hawthorne Manor.
And it owners—The Hawthorne family—ran Denton like it was already conquered. Richest family in the region by a mile, they controlled the entire cattle trade all along the Red River. Their ties to the Church kept their books clean and their hands dirtier than most could imagine.
Folks in town might grumble about the Fairweathers, who owned the shipyard and most of city square, but they still respected 'em. The Hawthornes? People hated them. Quietly. Carefully. But deep down, they all did.
Inside the manor, polished boots clicked against imported marble. Stained glass filtered the morning sun into blood-colored shards, each window etched with pious fervor—saints, angels, swords, and sacrifice.
The place didn't smell like a ranch. It smelled like a chapel with too much polish and not enough forgiveness.
Up on the third floor, through two brass-framed double doors, Gideon Hawthorne—second son—sat behind his desk like a judge waiting on a confession.
His skin was too perfect, like porcelain with a pulse. Slick black hair combed back to a shine. A gilded neckpiece traced the edge of his jaw, and his golden eyes didn't blink much—just hovered over paperwork with the cold focus of a predator eyeing weak prey.
Before him stood Rosco and the two others who'd attacked Levi in the alley. All three were bruised, swollen, and trying hard not to fidget.
Gideon finally looked up. His enhanced eyes adjusted with a quiet whirr, the smallest shift of iris revealing his interest.
"You lost to one boy."
Rosco's jaw clenched. One eye was puffed shut, and his lips were still crusted with dried blood.
"He ain't normal. I told you, sir. The kid moved like a fuckin' devil—"
"Language."
The word hit sharper than a slap as Rosco went rigid. Gideon set his pen down and folded his hands together.
"You picked a fight, lost it, and dragged this family's name through the gutter. And now you're standing in my office asking for what, exactly? Sympathy?"
One of the men—arm in a sling, blood dried down his collar—stepped forward, eyes burning.
"He was your friend, wasn't he? You grew up with Nathan. We don't want bleedin' sympathy, we want some fuckin' revenge. So why don't—"
PST—SPLCH!
Silence.
A clean hole opened through the man's skull. He crumpled without a word.
Gideon lowered his steaming palm and let out a long sigh. He reached into his coat, pulled out a monogrammed handkerchief, and calmly wiped his hand clean.
"Foul language..."
He closed his eyes, folding the cloth.
"Is the bastard child of ignorance. And I have very little patience for either."
His tone was still calm. Pleasant, even.
"Have I been unclear?"
Rosco and the last man flinched, then snapped straight.
"No sir!"
"Perfectly clear, sir. We—we always told him to watch his mouth. He just—he just didn't listen."
Gideon held the soiled handkerchief over to Rosco without looking at him. He caught it with both hands like it was a relic.
"Good. Then start by tidying this up. When that's done, I want you to tell me everything you know about this boy who killed Nathaniel."
He walked to the window behind his desk, hands clasped behind his back as he stared out over the stockyard.
"I won't tolerate disrespect."
His golden eyes narrowed as they scanned the yard below.
"This is mine. All of it. And no one—no one—touches what's mine."
----
It had been a long, interesting day. But Levi was ready.
Watching the grappling claw retract back into his arm, he stood there panting, body slick with sweat.
"You're crazy, kid. You really think that's gonna work?"
Rufus leaned on the railing above him, cigarette burning low in his hand as he watched from the stair landing.
"Never know unless I try."
"I still think you're overthinkin' it. He don't know about your augments."
Levi hesitated for a second. Felt a little awkward.
'Not like you know all of it either.'
He didn't respond. Just rolled his eyes and grabbed a rag to wipe off. He and Rufus had been arguing about it all day. Rufus thought eastern martial arts were just some sissy dance, nothing a real fighter needed. But Levi had seen the truth firsthand.
He downplayed it. He'd never admit how hard he studied, how desperate he'd been to pick up what little he could.
The man he'd worked with back then was an older Chinese merc—quiet, kept to himself. Called him Japanese once and learned the hard way there was a difference. No augments. But he was the only one the regulars never gave shit to.
Levi used to sneak off to watch him train. Never got close enough to ask questions. Was too embarrassed. Just watching the man fight told him enough. The way he moved—efficient, deliberate, like every strike had already landed before it began.
He saw one of the regulars mess with him once. Just once. Pretty sure that poor bastard's still pissing through a straw.
"How 'bout after I fight him, you take a turn. Let's see what all your talkin' adds up to."
Levi grabbed his coat and hat and started for the stairs.
Rufus thought on it.
"Maybe I will. If he whups your ass bad enough, I might take offense. Bein' one of your teachers and all. Gotta defend my honor."
"Shut the fuck up. You ain't got any honor to—hey! Hey! Put that arm down!"
Rufus had the bolter leveled like Levi just walked into his own hanging.
"Fire that and I'll tell Edmond the truth about last night."
Rufus paused. Then lowered it.
"Dirty bastard. You'd really tell him, wouldn't ya?"
Levi let out a breath as he climbed the stairs. Edmond didn't need to know the full truth. So Levi said he slipped out while Rufus wasn't lookin'. Left it vague.
If Edmond found out Rufus let him walk home alone after a bar fight, he'd have ripped the man's scalp clean off.
So Levi had filed that away. Knew it might come in handy later.
Stepping into the house, he headed to the washroom, showered and changed. As he sat on the edge of his bed putting on his boots, he suddenly felt a twitch of an overused muscle in his back.
Taking in a short breath, he sat straight and started to rub where he could.
His fingers suddenly traced the metal of his spine, an abrupt edge sent a shiver along it as it felt unnatural, sharp under his skin.
"One more."
His spine was all that was left. He wondered if he had it now, would he be so nervous about tomorrow. He knew the benefits he was supposed to recieve, but compressing time? He wasn't even sure if he properly grasped the concept.
He went about the evening like normal. Ate supper with the house. Helped with dishes. Even sat in for a few rounds of Saints Row with the kids. They only played for buttons, but Levi still found himself cleaned out after a handful of rounds.
Gambling was never his thing. Didn't have the face for it. Every thought showed plain as day.
The kids played late into the evening before finally crashing, leaving just the three of them at the table. Edmond went over everything for the twentieth time—what he knew about Silent Dart, what he guessed, what he feared. It wasn't much, but it was something.
By the time they wrapped up, it was nearing midnight. Levi headed to bed. On the way, he stopped by the kitchen, grabbed a beer, and cracked it open.
Taking it to his room, he kicked his boots off. Back against the shelf beneath his bedroom window, he took a long pull and exhaled.
"Silent Dart…"
A faint smirk tugged at his lips.
"Weird bastard…"
He finished the beer, settling in deeper. Felt relaxed. Too relaxed. Maybe if he'd looked just a second longer out that window before laying back, he'd have seen them—those two faint, glowing eyes.
Watching. Unblinking. Fixed right on him.
----
The next day, it was creeping up on high noon.
And right on time, Silent Dart came strolling up the road.
"You ready, kid?"
Rufus, for once, wasn't hungover. Seemed he skipped the saloon last night.
"I'm ready."
Edmond though, didn't look well. Dark bags under his eyes, deeper than usual. Levi figured sleep hadn't come easy.
"Go on down and get ready. We'll bring him along."
Edmond stepped off the porch toward the deputy while Levi headed inside. Heart thudding, he slapped his arms and bounced a little with each step, trying to get his blood right.
'Take it slow. Maintain distance. Observe. Make the opening.'
He kept the plan on repeat in his head as he reached the basement stairs and made his way to the mine floor. Once there, he stepped to the center, drawing his bowie knives. No need to stretch. He was already loose. Already there.
Didn't take long before Rufus's voice came echoing down the stairwell.
"...your ass. I wouldn't even try any of that kicky-flippy shit. Just sock him in the nose."
'Is he coaching him?! Evil bastard.'
The mine doors pushed open. The Deputy strolled out first, Rufus rubbing his shoulders like he was prepping a prizefighter. The deputy looked around the space with a quiet curiosity.
"Would you stop that?"
Cheng swatted Rufus's hands away, then turned to Edmond with a nod of thanks.
"I'm impressed. To think you had something like this hidden down here. Even a T-8..."
His usually unreadable eyes widened. Something behind them whirred to life.
"I'll train him here. This is much better than what I planned."
"Don't go makin' plans just yet. Makes me feel like you don't take me serious."
Levi couldn't help himself as he called out. The way the man spoke—like it was already settled—didn't sit right.
As Jian stepped onto the mine floor, his gaze landed on the blades in Levi's hands.
"Those your weapons?"
Levi smirked.
"What else?"
Edmond and Rufus peeled off without a word, walking to the side to stand near Timmy.
Cheng nodded, stepping in slowly, hands behind his back.
"Short blades. Two of them. Efficient. Fits your frame. Fits your instincts. Good, good, good."
Then he did something Levi didn't expect.
In one smooth motion, Silent Dart drew his saber from the scabbard on his back—and hurled it.
SNKT!
The blade bit deep into the far stone wall, quivering on impact. A statement.
An insult.
"Go get it back."
Levi's voice dropped. Low. Cold.
Jian tilted his head, frowning like he was confused.
"Have I upset you? Did you think I would use that to fight you? Please, do not take offense—but using a weapon here would be bullying. My fists are enough."
Levi's grip tightened. Joints popping. His knuckles looked bone-white on the hilts.
"Your mistake."
He sank low, blades ready. Breathing steady. Locked in.
Focusing his core. Sharpening his edges.
"I'm gonna make you regret doin' that."
Jian just stood there. Calm as ever. One hand behind his back. His body angled slightly away. The other hand lifted—palm up, fingers curled.
He beckoned.
"Show me you are more than words... pup."
BOOM!
Levi charged.
And Silent Dart smiled.