Vendetta beneath a broken sky

The morning sun stretched across the cartel's compound, bathing the concrete and steel structures in a harsh golden light. Logan stood outside his quarters, still wearing the gray jacket and combat boots he had donned for the previous night's mission. The faint scent of gunpowder clung to him, a quiet reminder of the violence that had christened him as a triggerman.

The mission had been swift and brutal. His first kill had been clean, but the bloodstains left on his hands felt heavier than expected. It wasn't guilt—Logan had none for those who betrayed the cartel. It was the weight of purpose. His mother's death, his father's simmering plan for revenge, the larger goal—everything was starting to take form.

Logan made his way toward the training grounds at the heart of the compound. The air there was always alive with the clatter of weapons, the grunts of effort, and the barked commands of seasoned operatives. The cartel's guards trained alongside a handful of espers, individuals who, like Logan, possessed powers that set them apart. However, Logan had always kept his gravity-manipulating abilities a secret, at his father's insistence. Revealing them prematurely could risk exposing their long-term plan.

As he approached the grounds, several of the guards stopped to acknowledge him.

"New triggerman, huh? Look at you, Holt," one of the older guards jeered. "Bet you think one little mission makes you untouchable."

Logan shrugged off the comment, his expression blank. "Just here to train, not to talk."

The response didn't sit well with one of the younger guards, a tall, broad-shouldered man named Victor. He was known for his temper and for throwing his weight around, especially with newer recruits.

"You think you're better than us now, rookie?" Victor challenged, stepping forward. His tone dripped with hostility.

Logan stopped, tilting his head slightly. "I didn't say that. But if you want to test it, I'm game."

A crowd began to gather as Victor smirked. "Alright, let's see what the new blood's got."

The makeshift arena formed quickly, the spectators eager for a fight. Logan stepped into the circle, casually tossing his jacket aside. Victor cracked his knuckles, confidence radiating from his every move.

Victor charged first, aiming to overwhelm Logan with brute force. Logan sidestepped effortlessly, his movements calculated and precise. Each attack from Victor was met with a dodge, a parry, or a counter that left the larger man more frustrated.

Logan didn't rely on his esper powers; instead, he used the years of combat training his father had drilled into him. With a swift feint and a well-placed kick, Logan sent Victor sprawling to the ground.

The crowd erupted in a mix of cheers and laughter. Victor, humiliated, glared up at Logan but knew better than to continue.

"You're not bad, Holt," one of the older guards said, clapping him on the back as the crowd dispersed. "Don't let it get to your head."

Logan retrieved his jacket, brushing off the dust. Before he could leave the training grounds, a younger recruit approached him with a message.

"Your father's looking for you," the recruit said, nervously glancing at Logan's expression.

Logan nodded and headed toward his father's office, a small, nondescript room tucked away near the accounting wing of the compound. George Holt sat behind his desk, his face impassive as always, but his eyes carried a weight that spoke of sleepless nights and relentless planning.

"You called for me?" Logan asked, closing the door behind him.

George leaned back in his chair, gesturing for Logan to sit. "You did well last night," he began. "Word's already spread. The boss is pleased."

"Good," Logan replied curtly.

George studied his son for a moment before continuing. "But we can't let this get to your head. There's still much to do. We're not ready yet."

Logan's jaw tightened. "I know that. But we can't take down the cartel alone."

George raised an eyebrow. "What are you saying?"

"I want to go freelance," Logan said firmly. "Work outside the cartel. Make connections, find allies. There are other organizations, other groups, that could help us when the time comes. If we stay here, we'll never have the resources or the reach to finish this."

George's expression darkened. "Freelance work is dangerous. You'd be cutting yourself loose from the cartel's protection."

"I can handle myself," Logan replied. "You've trained me for this. And we both know staying here too long puts us at risk. If the boss ever finds out what we're planning…"

George sighed, rubbing his temples. "You've thought this through."

"I have," Logan said. "This is the only way to make it work. Trust me."

For a long moment, George said nothing. Then, finally, he nodded. "Alright. But we do this carefully. I'll help you set it up, make sure it doesn't raise suspicion. And Logan—"

Logan met his father's gaze.

"Don't forget why we're doing this," George said quietly.

"I won't," Logan replied, his voice cold and resolute.

As he left his father's office, Logan felt the weight of their plan settling more heavily on his shoulders. He had taken the first steps toward their ultimate goal, but he knew the road ahead would be anything but easy.

---

As Logan exited his father's office, his thoughts swirled with the weight of his first mission. The adrenaline coursing through his veins had not yet subsided, and he struggled to fully process the gravity of what he had done. Turning the corner, he abruptly collided with a solid figure.

"Watch where you're going," a deep voice growled. Logan looked up to find himself staring into the piercing eyes of Manny, Salvador's ever-loyal right-hand man.

"The boss wants to see you," Manny said curtly, brushing past Logan without waiting for a response.

Logan adjusted the collar of his jacket and steeled himself. Whatever Salvador wanted, it was bound to set the tone for his future. He followed Manny down a series of opulent hallways adorned with gold-trimmed art and relics that screamed wealth and power. Salvador never hesitated to remind his people of who they worked for.

When Logan entered the room, Salvador was seated in a grand chair, sipping a glass of whiskey. Standing beside him was a young man Logan had only heard whispers about—Julian, Salvador's eldest son. Julian had been away in Moscow, brokering deals with the Russians, and his reputation as a ruthless and efficient enforcer preceded him.

"Logan," Salvador began, his tone unusually warm. "Come in, boy. Let me have a look at you." His eyes scanned Logan from head to toe, appraising him. "You did well today, better than I expected for your first time out. You remind me of myself when I was your age."

Logan inclined his head in silent acknowledgment, unsure of how to respond. Salvador gestured to Julian.

"This is my eldest son, Julian. He's been handling things on the other side of the world, but now that he's back, I want the two of you to get acquainted. Logan, I have high hopes for you. With your talents, you'll go far in this organization."

Julian sneered, his sharp features twisting into a mocking grin. "Beginners' luck," he said, his voice dripping with disdain. "A kid like him wouldn't last a day in Moscow."

Logan locked eyes with Julian, his jaw tightening. The air in the room grew heavy as his forcefield aura began to radiate subtly. It was an unspoken challenge, a silent declaration that he wouldn't back down. Julian's sneer faltered, replaced by a flicker of anger.

"You think you're tough, huh?" Julian growled, taking a step forward. The tension crackled like a live wire.

Before the situation could escalate further, the door to the room swung open. A girl stepped inside, her presence instantly commanding attention. She was strikingly beautiful, with raven-black hair and a cold, unapproachable air. Her piercing gaze swept across the room, landing on Logan for a moment before she walked over to Julian and Salvador.

"Amara," Salvador said, his tone softening. "You're back earlier than expected."

"I need a guard," she said bluntly, ignoring the tension in the room. She hugged her father and brother briefly, then turned back to Salvador. "The academy is hosting a dance tonight, and I need someone to accompany me. Preferably someone competent."

Salvador's gaze shifted to Logan, a small smile playing on his lips. "Logan will do it. He's more than capable."

Amara's cold eyes studied Logan for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then she nodded. "Fine. He'll do."

Julian's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Logan glanced at him, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Julian glared back, but the conversation was over. Salvador's word was law.

"Be ready by eight," Amara said to Logan before turning on her heel and leaving the room.

As the door closed behind her, Salvador chuckled. "Well, Logan, looks like your night just got a lot more interesting.