Vendetta beneath a broken sky

Logan adjusted the lapel of his gray tuxedo, the fabric fitting snugly over his broad shoulders. He stood in front of the mirror in his room, his reflection staring back at him with an intensity that mirrored the emotions swirling inside. Tonight wasn't just another job or another order from Salvador—it was something alien to him. A school dance. He allowed a small, sardonic smile to cross his lips.

What would she have thought if she could see him now? His mother.

He leaned forward, his hand brushing the edge of the mirror as memories flooded his mind. His mother, Emily Holt, had been a force of nature—strong-willed, compassionate, and unyielding in her sense of justice. She had been a detective in the Bureau of Justice, one of their best. She always said that she'd make the world a better place for him, for Logan.

But the world had been cruel in return.

Logan's jaw clenched as the familiar pain surfaced. His mother's death was the wound that never healed, the scar that defined him. She had been investigating Salvador—gathering evidence that could have exposed his empire and toppled his web of powerful associates. But the cartel leader had been two steps ahead. He had bought off her partner, someone she had trusted with her life.

The betrayal had sealed her fate.

The memory of that night was burned into Logan's mind. He was only five years old, sitting on the living room floor with a stack of picture books, when the phone rang. His father, George, answered, and Logan remembered the way his father's face changed. The fear. The desperation.

"Emily?" George's voice had cracked as he spoke into the receiver.

"George, they know," her voice trembled, but her resolve was unwavering. "It was James. He sold me out. I don't have much time… Listen, no matter what happens, you have to protect Logan. Keep him safe. Promise me."

"I will. I swear it."

There was a pause, and then she said, "George… tell Logan that I love him. Always."

Logan didn't fully understand what was happening at the time, but he could hear her voice through the phone. He dropped his book and ran to his father, grabbing at his sleeve.

"Mom?" he had asked. "Where's Mom?"

His father had only pulled him close, clutching him tightly as the phone fell from his hand. That was the last time Logan ever heard her voice. Hours later, George got the confirmation—she had been ambushed, gunned down in a warehouse by Salvador's men.

Logan's fists tightened as he stared into the mirror. His mother's death had defined the path he now walked. She was the reason he trained. The reason he killed. She had wanted to protect him from men like Salvador, and now he was working for the very man who took her life. But not forever.

He and his father had sworn vengeance.

George had spent years building his facade, playing the role of Salvador's loyal accountant, while secretly gathering information, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Logan's role was just another piece of the puzzle—a weapon to be sharpened and unleashed when the time came.

Logan adjusted his tie, smoothing it over his chest. "I'll make him pay, Mom," he murmured under his breath. "For you. For everything."

A knock at the door snapped him out of his thoughts. He turned, his mask of calm composure sliding effortlessly into place.

"Logan, car's ready," Manny's gruff voice called from the other side.

"Be right there," Logan replied.

He gave himself one last look in the mirror, his mother's face flashing briefly in his mind. Then, with a deep breath, he turned and walked out of the room.

Tonight, he would play his part. But beneath the polished surface of the cartel's obedient soldier, the fire of revenge still burned, hotter than ever.

Logan stepped out of the house, his gray tuxedo catching the dim glow of the evening lights. Waiting by the car was Amara, her beauty striking under the pale light. Her long, elegant purple dress flowed like liquid silk, contrasting with her usual cold demeanor. But tonight, there was something different—a smile broke through her frosty exterior as her gaze met Logan's.

"You clean up well," she said softly, her voice carrying a hint of approval.

Logan dipped his head slightly, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "You're not so bad yourself."

Amara chuckled lightly and stepped into the car. Before Logan could follow, Julian emerged from the shadows. His eyes narrowed as he approached Logan.

"Keep her safe," Julian said, his tone low and threatening. "If anything happens to her, you'll answer to me. Got it?"

Logan nodded, meeting Julian's gaze without flinching. "Understood."

Julian lingered for a moment before stepping back. Logan climbed into the car, and Manny, seated in the passenger seat, turned to him.

"Boss's orders are clear," Manny said gruffly. "Nothing happens to her, or we'll have a problem. Got it, kid?"

"Crystal," Logan replied, his tone steady.

The ride to the academy was quiet, the tension palpable. When they arrived, the sight of the grand building lit up for the event reminded Logan of what he had missed growing up. But he didn't have time to dwell on it.

As soon as Amara stepped out of the car, all eyes turned to her. Her classmates, instructors, and even the parents present couldn't help but admire her. But it wasn't just Amara who caught their attention—Logan, stepping out in his sharp gray tuxedo with his hair tied back in a bun, drew equal curiosity. The tint of gray at the tips of his hair gave him an enigmatic air that matched his composed demeanor.

Walking up to Amara, Logan offered his arm, and she took it with surprising ease. Together, they entered the hall, their presence commanding the room.

Inside, a group of Amara's friends immediately rushed over.

"Amara, who's that?" one of them asked, her gaze fixed on Logan.

"He's not my boyfriend," Amara said coolly. "He's my guard for the evening. My father assigned him."

Her friends turned their attention to Logan, their curiosity shifting to playful interest.

"So, Logan," one of them began, leaning closer, "where are you from? Do you go to any of the academies?"

Logan offered a polite smile. "I'm homeschooled."

The girls exchanged surprised glances, intrigued by his composed yet mysterious aura. They bombarded him with questions, some even boldly asking him to dance. Logan declined each offer with grace but entertained their chatter with casual conversation, his politeness leaving them both impressed and flustered.

A couple of hours into the event, the festive atmosphere was interrupted by Matthew, one of Amara's admirers, who stormed over with a group of his friends.

"Amara, who is this guy?" Matthew demanded, his eyes narrowing as he sized Logan up.

"He's my guard," Amara replied, her tone neutral.

Matthew scoffed, stepping closer to Logan. "Guard, huh? Doesn't look like much to me. What are you supposed to protect her from, exactly?"

Logan remained silent, his expression calm, but Amara's eyes flickered with annoyance.

Matthew smirked, emboldened by Logan's lack of response. "Let's see what you're made of. I challenge you."

Logan glanced at Amara, silently asking for her permission. She gave a small nod. "Do what you need to do."

"Fine," Logan said, his voice steady. "Let's get this over with."

Matthew's friends moved to surround Logan, their esper abilities crackling to life. But Logan didn't flinch. In a flash, he drew his custom-made brown dagger, the blade longer than a typical dagger, resembling a short sword.

The fight was over almost as quickly as it began. Logan moved with precision, his strikes clean and efficient. Matthew and his friends barely had time to react before they were disarmed and incapacitated. A few cuts and broken bones later, they lay on the floor, groaning in pain.

Logan sheathed his dagger and took a step back, his forcefield aura flaring around him. The sheer intensity of it made the air heavy, and Matthew and his goons cowered under its weight.

"Stay down," Logan warned, his voice cold. "Next time, I won't be so gentle."

The room had fallen silent, all eyes on Logan. The principal and a few instructors, who had been observing from a distance, stepped forward.

"Impressive," one of them said, nodding in approval. "You handled that with skill and restraint."

Logan gave a small nod of acknowledgment, his focus returning to Amara. She and her friends were stunned, though Amara's expression quickly returned to its usual neutrality.

"You handled that well," Amara said as her best friend nudged her playfully.

"Logan," her friend said with a grin, "how about a dance? You've earned it."

Logan hesitated for a moment but then nodded. "Sure."

As they moved to the dance floor, Logan found himself relaxing for the first time in a long while. The rest of the evening passed smoothly, the earlier incident fading into the background.

When they returned home, Amara turned to Logan, a rare warmth in her eyes. "You did well tonight."

Julian, who was waiting for them, raised an eyebrow as he noticed his sister's faint smile. His skepticism toward Logan wavered slightly, though he remained cautious.

"Not bad, kid," Julian said begrudgingly. "But I'm still watching you."

Logan met his gaze with calm confidence. "I wouldn't expect anything less."