The evening sun filtered through the half-closed blinds in golden slashes, lighting up the dust motes that hung in the air like silent witnesses.
Kalisa sat on the far end of the couch, one leg curled under her, fingers fidgeting with the seam of a throw pillow. Across from her, Lisa stood at the window, arms folded, her eyes were fixed on the street, but clearly not seeing it.
They hadn't said much since Kalisa walked in. Just a soft "hello" and a nod from Lisa. The silence between them was not just the absence of words, it was loaded, like a room filled with smoke no one dared acknowledge.
Kalisa opened her mouth, then closed it again.
She had come home with questions, dangerous questions. Things Sherly had said were still spinning in her head like a carousel: "Obviously, you don't know your mom."
That line stuck. It stung. It whispered possibilities that Kalisa wasn't sure she was ready to hear.
Lisa turned slightly, almost as if sensing her daughter's inner struggle. "Did you eat?" she asked, voice too casual.
Kalisa shook her head, mumbling, "Not hungry."
A beat of silence.
Then Lisa said softly, "You've been… different lately."
Kalisa blinked. "Different how?" In a soft tune, her mother was sick, though she needed answers, she was not going to make things worse.
Lisa hesitated. "Restless. Distracted. Watching doors like you expect someone to barge in." She looked over. "Is this about that wallet?"
Kalisa stiffened. Her eyes flashed up to her mother's, but the words caught in her throat. This is it. Ask her. Just ask.
But instead, she forced a faint smile. "I said I don't have the wallet, Mom."
Lisa smiled, "Why did you think that's what I was after?"
"Because I know you've heard and you know, but I don't have it," Kalisa replied.
Lisa didn't press. "Okay."
But Kalisa could tell she didn't believe her.
Lisa turned back to the window, her voice distant. "I remember when you were little, you used to ask about my past all the time. About your father. About who I used to be before I was your mom." She smiled faintly. "I always told you I was a nurse. Nothing special."
Kalisa spoke before she could stop herself. "Was it the truth?"
Lisa turned. For a second, something flickered across her face. Regret? Fear? Recognition?
Then it was gone.
"Of course," she said, too smoothly.
Kalisa wanted to scream. Say it. Say what Sherly said. Ask her if she's part of the Mafia. Ask her if she was ever someone else before she became Lisa.
But instead, she looked away and whispered, "Okay."
Lisa sighed and walked over, sitting beside her.
They both stared ahead in silence. They were inches apart, yet worlds away.
Both women had secrets.
Both were afraid to say too much.
And both knew that sooner or later, the truth would demand to be spoken.
But for now, they sat in the hush of denial, pretending the questions weren't clawing at the walls between them.
Kliisa kissed her mother on the forehead. "I'm going to head out, Mom."
Kalisa moved through the narrow streets like a rat, every sense sharpened. The scent of refuse mingled with stale sweat; the walls were cracked, plaster peeling like old scabs. But she barely noticed. The only thing on her mind was Justin.
She found him leaning against the red-brick wall at a street's mouth, shoulders slumped, eyes hollow. He looked worse than she felt, confused, afraid, pathetic. But those were all things he'd earned.
She stopped six feet away, weapon aimed at the ground. She didn't speak at first. She let him squirm under the weight of her unreadable gaze.
Finally, she said, "What the hell did you get me into, Justin?"
He stared at her boot, like she'd accused him of murder. She pulled her eyes upward to meet his. "Answer me."
He tried to stand straight, ran a hand through his greasy hair. "If you'd just, if you'd returned the wallet when you were asked, you wouldn't be in this."
"What wallet, Justin? The one you asked me to steal?" Kalisa shot back.
"You missed the target and stole from Don Khan, hmm," Justin sighed.
Kalisa's laugh was hollow. She lifted one eyebrow. "It's not that easy. Maybe Don Khan doesn't send assassins if you return his wallet. Maybe this entire thing ends."
Justin's eyes widened. "You mean the Swordman?"
She lowered the gun to eye level. "Yeah. What do you know about him?"
Justin exhaled sharply. "Everybody in our world knows the Swordman. He's—he's—" His voice caught. "He's a ghost that kills people. Only one person sent him once, and that man died too. He's not a weapon. He's an ending."
Kalisa thatched together the word in her mind: 'ending.'
She repeated it. "An ending."
Justin nodded, voice squeezing: "Look, Kali, go ask Don Khan for mercy. Tell him someone else stole it. Beg him."
She blinked, then snorted. "Beg? Are you kidding me? Me? I don't beg."
He looked up, desperation tattooed on his face. "Then what are you going to do with the Swordman?"
"I will haunt him too, if he is looking for me, then I must find him too,"
"Why are you haunting him?"
Kalisa didn't bother hiding the grin. "Because I have no choice."
Justin's laugh was sudden, barking. "You? Haunt him? You've never held a gun before today."
Kalisa stayed still, but in her eyes, colour kindled. "I have now."
She stepped forward. One heartbeat later, the gun cupped into her hand like it belonged there. She levelled it.
A hot, sharp click as she tested the trigger.
Justin jerked back, a hand suddenly by his ear, eyes wide. "What—?!"
Kalisa's smile was cold, quick. "I don't miss," she said, voice hushed, lethal. "That wasn't a mistake."
She edged past him, took a few steps deeper into the alley's gloom. But before she was lost in shadow, she turned.
"Listen, Justin," she said. "You screwed me over, but this is my game now."
She lifted the gun, angled it toward him. "You? You bail. You run. You vanish. Because if the Swordsman doesn't get to me, Don Khan will bury you next."
Justin looked at the gun as if it had grown razor-sharp teeth. His face paled, nearly drained. But something flared in him: stubbornness. Defiance. Something like—loyalty, still.
He swallowed. "And if-- if I stay?"
Kalisa aimed a finger at him, barrel level. "Then get buried before you're worth anything anyway."
She paused. "What do you even know about surviving this?"
His voice cracked as he answered: "I know enough to know you're better off with me gone."
She met his eyes. Saw the truth in them: fear. Shame. Guilt.
She snapped the gun pointed up, clicked it closed. "Then go."
He nodded, bent at the waist, and turned. His footsteps stuttered away.
Kalisa watched him go until the street swallowed the sound of his steps.
She closed her eyes. Lightning fast, she replaced the magazine, locked the slide, and tucked the gun deep into her waistband.
Kalisa closed the door behind her and leaned back against it with slow weariness. She pressed a hand to her chest, hard to believe she'd just pulled a trigger.
Lisa sat in the armchair, knitting needles paused mid-row, eyes fixed on the door. When Kalisa spoke, her voice was soft and tired.
Meanwhile, the Swordsman had a meeting with Don Khan after arriving late. Everyone knew he was coming to Pharr before his arrival.
The Darkworld of Pharr was shaken.
Smoke curled in the low-hung lamps. A single motorcycle fuelling machine hissed in the corner. Knife-carved wooden crates held barrels of mysterious contents.
The Swordsman stepped from the shadows. He closed the door behind him, pinned his coat, and sat down at the table.
He laid out photos: Kalisa's face in daylight, at Sheridan's, with Detective Caleb, from Don Khan's files. Next to those, the wallet.
He reached into his pocket: a single silver blade, thin, long, sharp enough to pierce steel.
He held his reflection in the blade for a moment: calm, cold. He sheathed it again.
He picked up the wallet carefully, ran a fingertip over the leather.
A door clicked behind him, and Don Khan stood in the threshold, face in half-shadow.
The Swordsman's hands didn't tremble. But his mind did not rest; only his training kept him stone still.
Don Khan walked in, closed the door behind him.
"You know what to do."
The Swordsman nodded. "Blade is drawn."
"Good."
Don Khan slipped a pair of photographs alongside the wallet: Surveillance stills of Kalisa meeting Sherly, then meeting Caleb at the café.
"He's trying to protect her. If the detective moves in, we hit him last."
The Swordsman nodded again.
Don Khan paused. "And the sword..."
It was the question carved out of reward.
The Swordsman's eyes flicked to the blade strapped across his back.
"When the time comes."
He placed the wallet, photo, and knife into the wooden crate.
Don Khan turned to leave.
"Retrieve my wallet. Eliminate her."
He walked out. The door closed.