Chapter 37: The Final Reckoning.

  Outside, the world was quiet, save for the soft crunch of snow underfoot as the wind whispered through the trees. Talon sat in the back of the jeep, his arms protectively wrapped around baby Talon. The child, blissfully unaware of the horrors around them, babbled softly, tugging at Talon’s jacket. But Talon’s gaze was distant, hollow. The grief over Sarah’s death weighed heavily on him, each breath a painful reminder of what he’d lost. Jess sat beside him, her hand resting on his shoulder—a silent, grounding presence. She didn’t speak, knowing there were no words that could ease his pain.

  Eli stood nearby, watching the building where Ava remained inside with Holts. He shifted anxiously, his eyes darting to the door as he waited for her to emerge. The ADF soldiers lingered, exchanging uneasy glances, the gravity of the situation sinking in. Miko, sensing the tension, approached Eli. "What’s happening in there?" he asked softly, but Eli’s only response was a slow shake of his head.

  Inside the building, the mood was far darker. The walls seemed to close in, the weight of the impending reckoning suffocating. Holts lay on the ground, his body battered and broken. Blood oozed from his wounds, staining the wooden floor beneath him, but still, he tried to smile—a mocking, painful grin as he looked up at Ava, who stood over him with an eerie calm.

  "So, what’s it going to be?" Holts rasped, his voice strained from pain. His eyes gleamed with a twisted arrogance, as if even now, he could still manipulate his way out.

  Ava tilted her head slightly, her gaze cold and unfeeling. "Slow? Maybe. Painful?" She paused, as if genuinely considering the question. "I haven’t quite decided yet."

  Holts chuckled, though the sound came out more like a wheeze. "At least... at least I’ll go out being taken down by a legend," he spat, trying to maintain his bravado.

  Ava's lip curled into a smirk, but there was no warmth behind it. "Who’s telling your story?" she asked, her voice quiet, yet sharp as glass. "Because I am. And I’ll say you went out like a coward, crying and pleading."

  That wiped the grin from Holts’s face. Anger flickered in his eyes, but it was fleeting—quickly replaced by the grim realization that he was at her mercy. "No one will believe you," he hissed, struggling against the pain in his voice.

  "They’ll believe whatever the legend says," Ava responded with deadly calm. "Remember, I *am* the legend."

  Holts clenched his jaw, glaring up at her through his pain. "I was wrong about you," he muttered, his voice low but venomous. "You’re not the Blonde Death. You’re just a blonde bitch."

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Before he could blink, Ava’s hand moved in a blur, and a knife buried itself in his leg. Holts screamed, the sound tearing through the silence of the room. Ava’s expression remained unchanged.

  "That’s for the comment," she said, her voice as cold as the steel she wielded.

  Holts writhed in agony, his hands instinctively trying to reach for the knife, but Ava wasn’t done. Another blade sunk into his other leg, another scream ripped from his throat.

  "And that’s for taking my friend Jess," Ava added, her tone devoid of emotion. She watched as Holts gasped for breath, his body convulsing in pain.

  "Stop," Holts begged, his bravado finally crumbling. "I’m sorry... stop."

  Ava ignored his pleas. With a slow, deliberate motion, she pulled out a third knife and plunged it into his stomach. Holts let out a gurgled cry, his body twitching violently as the pain overwhelmed him.

  "This one’s for my brother," Ava whispered, leaning in close, her eyes dark and unforgiving.

  Holts’s breath came in shallow gasps, his strength fading fast. His vision blurred, but through the haze of pain, he saw Ava reach for her sword. His eyes widened in terror, but his body was too weak to fight back, too broken to resist.

  "And this," Ava said, her voice dropping to a lethal whisper, "is for Sarah."

  In one swift motion, her sword sliced through the air, and Holts’s head slumped to the side, the life finally draining from his body. Ava stood over him for a moment, staring at the lifeless form beneath her. The room was deathly silent, save for the faint sound of her own breathing.

  She wiped the blood from her blade and sheathed it with practiced precision, turning away from the body without a second glance. As she stepped toward the door, her face remained expressionless, cold, and detached—just like the legend she had become.

  The moment she stepped outside, the bitter winter air hit her, and with it, a wave of reality. She exhaled deeply, letting out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. All eyes turned to her, the tension palpable as everyone waited for her to speak.

  She glanced around, her gaze briefly landing on Talon, who sat in the ADF jeep holding baby Talon. His face was wet with tears, his grief plain for all to see. Jess held his hand, her presence a quiet comfort.

  Ava’s cold demeanor cracked just slightly. "Nope he didn't know that chicken recipe, looks like im not getting that today" she said, her voice carrying the faintest hint of humor, her attempt to lighten the unbearable weight of the moment.

  The silence persisted, broken only by the sound of the engine roaring to life. Ava climbed into the ADF vehicle, her face hardening once more as she banged on the roof, signaling for the driver to move.

  "Let’s go," she ordered, her voice steady and unyielding.

  The vehicle rolled forward, its tires carving deep tracks into the snow. The world seemed quieter now, as if the very air was holding its breath. They left the bloodshed behind, the snow quickly covering the last remnants of Holts’s existence. But the scars—on Talon, on Ava, on everyone—would remain. The road ahead was uncertain, but for now, they drove in silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts, knowing that this chapter of their lives had finally, brutally, come to an end.