Page 28 of Witch's Promise

"Right," Gabe said, forcing a polite smile. "Of course. Thank you for your hospitality."

Gabe's mind whirled with questions and half-formed theories. What was Caroline hiding? What had happened in that sealed room?

One thing was certain - this visit had raised far more questions than it had answered. Gabe knew he should probably call for backup, bring in the full resources of the Shadowguards to investigate. But a nagging voice in the back of his mind whispered that this was something he needed to figure out on his own.

As he stepped out into the sunlight, Gabe felt the weight of responsibility settle onto his shoulders once more. He'd come here looking for answers, but all he'd found were more mysteries. And with each passing moment, he couldn't shake the feeling that time was running out - not just for Jessy, but for all of them.

With one last look at the imposing Wisteria mansion, Gabe started the engine and pulled away. He had work to do, leads to follow, and a missing girl to find. The mysteries of the Wisteria family would have to wait - for now.

But as he drove back towards town, Gabe couldn't shake the feeling that he'd just scratched the surface of something much bigger and far more dangerous than he'd ever imagined. Whatever was going on with the Wisterias, it was clear that uncovering the truth would be no easy task.

Chapter 8

Sean

Sean stared at his reflection in the grimy mirror, the dim light of the dressing room casting harsh shadows across his face. Christ, he looked like shit. Dark circles under his eyes, a nasty bruise blooming on his left cheekbone from last week's fight. But hey, at least he was still standing. Which was more than he could say for the poor bastard he was about to face in the cage.

A heavy knock on the door made him flinch. Fuck, he was jumpy tonight.

"You're on in five, pretty boy," growled a voice that sounded like it had been gargling gravel. The club owner, an ogre who went by the name of Brick. Creative bunch, these underground types.

Sean grunted in acknowledgment, not bothering to turn around. Brick had seen him in worse states than this. Hell, half the time it was Brick patching him up after a particularly brutal match.

As the door closed, Sean let out a long breath, his eyes never leaving his reflection. How the fuck had he ended up here? From heir to one of the most notorious assassin dynasties to... what? A glorified pit fighter in Salem's magical underworld?

But he knew the answer to that, didn't he? It was the same reason he did everything these days. Guilt. Shame. The desperate need to feel something, anything, other than the crushing weight of his past.

Sean reached for the mask hanging on a hook beside the mirror. Black, nondescript, designed to cover the lower half of his face. His fingers traced the familiar contours, a humorless chuckle escaping his lips. From one mask to another. At least this one was literal.

As he secured the mask in place, Sean felt the familiar shift. The persona settling over him like a second skin. In here, he wasn't Sean Drake, former assassin and disappointment to his family. He was the Ghost, the undefeated champion of the Salem underground.

Nameless. Faceless. Untouchable.

Sean pushed away from the mirror, rolling his shoulders to work out the lingering tension. His body was a map of scars and half-healed injuries, each one a testament to the life he'd chosen. Or maybe the life that had chosen him.

The hallway outside the dressing room thrummed with energy, the muffled roar of the crowd growing louder with each step. Sean could feel the anticipation building, a heady mix of adrenaline and dread that never quite went away, no matter how many fights he won.

As he approached the entrance to the arena, Sean caught sight of a familiar figure lurking in the shadows. The Elder, they called him. A wrinkled old fuck who looked like he'd been around since the Salem witch trials. Which, given the nature of magic in this town, wasn't entirely impossible.

The Elder's eyes met Sean's, a knowing glint in those ancient depths. It had been the Elder who'd found Sean, half-dead and fully drunk in some back alley. Who'd offered him a way out, or maybe just a different kind of cage.

"Ready to give them a show, Ghost?" the Elder's voice was surprisingly smooth for someone who looked like they'd been carved from ancient wood.

Sean nodded, not trusting himself to speak. The Elder had that effect on people, making you feel like he could see right through you, past all the bullshit and bravado to the broken mess underneath.

"Good," the Elder said, a smile curving his thin lips. "Remember, pain is just weakness leaving the body. And you, my boy, have a lot of weakness to purge."

Sean felt a familiar surge of anger at the words, but he pushed it down. The Elder wasn't wrong, after all. Every fight, every bruise, every drop of blood spilled in that godforsaken cage was a form of penance.

Tonight's opponent was something special, though. A Vargr, a wolf shifter known for his brutal strength and lightning-fast reflexes. Sean had seen him fight before, had watched those massive hands break bones like twigs. The guy was a fucking tank, all rippling muscle and barely contained rage.

Great. Just fucking great.

Sean took a deep breath, centering himself. He couldn't rely on brute force here, not against a shifter. No, this fight would require every ounce of skill and cunning he'd acquired over years of training.

As Sean stepped into the ring, the roar of the crowd washing over him like a wave, he caught sight of his opponent. The Vargr was already there, prowling the cage like the predator he was. His eyes, glowing with an unnatural amber light, locked onto Sean, a smirk twisting his features.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer's voice boomed through the arena, "tonight's main event! In the red corner, weighing in at 250 pounds of pure muscle and fury, the undefeated beast of the cage, the Vargr!"

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