Hunting Wolfe

Caydon

Aceon's shadow casts over me, an unspoken guardian, as we navigate the hushed corridors to our suite. The door to the room snaps closed, isolating our private meeting from the outside world. The atmosphere is dense with words left hanging, suffocating the distance between us as he advances towards the table, a quiet hunter beside his quarry.

A sharp motion, and a chair is torn from its place, its legs screeching against the floor, breaking the silence. His command cuts through the air, "Sit." I'm compelled to obey, yet his gaze is fixed on another. "Not you; him." The words hang between us, charged with tension, the newcomer settling into the seat as if it were a throne, or a noose.

Aceon stands firm, an immovable force, looming over the seated figure. I muster up the courage to defy him, to boldly take my place opposite our ensnared guest. His tone, falsely serene, orchestrates the unfolding drama—his ensuing words a directive for the stranger's confession. "Now, tell the girl what you want." The scene is set, and our parts are cast.

"My name is Caydon, as I said earlier." The stranger starts.

"Wait." I interrupt. "If I'm to believe anything you say, you have to remove your hood. I can't trust a face I can't see."

As the hood falls back, it reveals the stranger's identity bit by bit— a tumble of chestnut hair. His hand, seemingly moving on its own, brushes away the stray locks, offering a clear view for his emerald green eyes to capture mine. He's a stranger, yet his appearance doesn't shock me; there's an odd sense of destiny in his smile, the sculpted lines of his jaw. Caught in an unexpected dance of attraction, my heart skips at the notion of his allure, but my mind quickly dismisses it. My gaze, without invitation, is drawn to the inked shadow beneath his left ear—a star's outline, as intricate as it is intentional. And that hand, the one I spotted among the steel and haze of the spaceport, holds a hidden universe: a majestic planet surrounded by a trio of tiny stars, all etched in ink. To my surprise, he is human.

"Why do I feel as if I know you?" I ask.

The man's mouth opens to give an answer but is interrupted by Aceon, who puts a hand on the man's shoulder and then says, "It's because he is a member of the Prophets of Al-Gean. You must have run into that lot before."

The words 'Prophets of Al-Gean' bounce around in my head.

The name seems familiar, and yet, I'm not sure that's why I feel as if I know him. "I don't know, Ace, I feel like something else is going on. He feels familiar. I know him. I'm sure of it. I just don't know how."

"All of The Prophets of Al-Gean wear hooded cloaks and have tattoos. It's their signature identification." He insists, removing his hand from Caydon's shoulder."

I still can't shake the feeling that something more is happening, Aceon is trying way to hard to convince me I'm overthinking things. He's hiding something, although I don't know what. Whatever it is, he clearly doesn't want me to find out about it, so I will go along with what he says, for now. But if I ever get a moment alone with Caydon, I will get my answers. "Yeah, I guess you're right, clearly, I'm overthinking it. Go ahead with your story."

"Right." He pauses a moment to think. "I am with The Prophets of Al-Gean, just as your very large friend said. I know your brother. And I can tell you that someone wants you dead." He pauses and looks up at Aceon.

"Wait, someone wants me, what?" I ask confused.

He looks back to me. "Dead. Someone is willing to pay an insane amount of money for you to no longer be alive."

"Who... what... why?" My head starts to spin and my stomach starts to do flips.

"I don't know all of the details, all I know is your death warrant come down to me from the higher ups. That combined with the amount of money offered, means someone rich and powerful is behind the order."