Abandoned Shipyard – 4:00 AM
The icy wind howled through the skeletal remains of the abandoned shipyard. Rusted chains swayed in the darkness, each creak sounding like the toll of a funeral bell.
Damian stood at the entrance, alone, his silhouette carved against the storm like an immovable statue.
His eyes were narrowed, sharp as daggers scanning every shadow. His fingers flexed around the cold metal of the gun strapped to his side, every muscle in his body coiled tight like a predator waiting to strike.
A single bead of rain slid down his cheek, but it wasn't the storm that chilled his blood.
It was the fear… the fear that for the first time in his life, he might be too late.
Hold on, my son. Just hold on…
The thought was a silent prayer against the thunder, a desperate plea from a man who'd once believed he didn't deserve redemption.
Inside the Warehouse
The little boy sat huddled against the corner, his tiny arms wrapped around his knees, eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears.
The masked captor crouched before him, knife gleaming under the flickering lights.
"Your father should be here any minute now…" The man's voice was low, cruel amusement dripping from every word. "Let's see how far he's willing to go for his precious heir."
Selina burst through the side entrance of the warehouse, rain-drenched and breathless. Her wild eyes searched frantically through the maze of crates and shadows.
Her baby was somewhere in this darkness. Afraid. Alone. And every second she wasted felt like another piece of her soul dying.
Her feet stumbled over debris, but she pushed forward, her voice cracking through the chaos.
"Baby! Mama's here!"
Scene Switch – Damian's POV
A sudden glint of movement to his right.
Without hesitation, Damian lunged.
Gunshots exploded in the darkness, each one followed by the sharp sound of ricocheting metal. Damian rolled behind a crate, his breaths harsh and ragged, blood oozing from a fresh graze along his arm.
But nothing—nothing—would stop him now.
His rage was a tidal wave crashing against every wall, his fear the sharp blade pressed to his throat.
He fought like a man possessed, like a king ready to burn his entire kingdom to ashes just to save the one thing that mattered.
Final Confrontation
Damian crashed through the final set of doors.
And there he was—his son, trembling, the knife pressed dangerously close to his throat.
Damian's entire body locked into place. His eyes burned through the captor, his voice low, deadly, final.
"Let. Him. Go."
The man sneered. "Or what, Lu? You'll kill me and leave the boy traumatized forever?"
Damian took one slow step forward.
"If I don't, you won't live long enough to see the sunrise."
Every instinct screamed at him to rush forward, but he knew one wrong move would mean losing everything.
The tension snapped tight like a razor-thin wire stretched to its breaking point, one breath away from catastrophe.
A single shot echoed through the warehouse.
The captor fell.
But as the boy ran toward Damian, a second hidden figure stepped from the shadows—gun raised, aimed directly at Damian's head.