The shower water was scalding, pounding down like a relentless torrent. Steam filled the bathroom, obscuring everything in a thick haze. Noah let it beat down on his shoulders, the heat nearly unbearable. Under any other circumstances, Vivian would have consumed his thoughts. Especially after tonight, after she had finally chosen him—after she had finally surrendered. But tonight, standing beneath the punishing cascade, his thoughts were miles away from her, lost in a memory from years ago.

  A name echoed quietly in his mind: Martha A.

  But he had known her as Martha Caldwell.

  ******

  Five years earlier

  Marcus Leung had always kept a low profile. Medium height, medium build, short dark hair trimmed meticulously. Plain jeans, plain shirts, nothing distinctive. He made sure of it. Marcus was the kind of guy who could vanish into a crowd, leave behind no trace. It was deliberate—a way of surviving the dangerous, shifting tides within Black Lotus.

  At twenty, Marcus was already a valuable asset to the organization. He had earned a reputation as the money man, the crypto wizard who could launder money with unmatched precision. Digital currency flowed through his fingers seamlessly, transformed from dirty cash into pristine, untraceable digital numbers that landed safely in Black Lotus accounts. He was fast and reliable, and the bosses prized him highly.

  But Marcus had a secret. A secret weapon that gave him an edge over everyone else:

  Sixteen-year-old Noah Wen.

  Marcus had first noticed Noah about four years earlier, in the crowded, dingy halls of their high school. He stood out instantly, though he was small, wiry, lean—almost scrawny at first glance. But there was a coiled, dangerous tension in his frame, a readiness for violence that Marcus recognized all too well. Noah carried himself like he had learned early that no one would come to save him. He was a kid who had learned, painfully and brutally, to fight or die.

  He’d seen some kids test him, and saw Noah brutally tear them down despite being half their size. The kid was ruthless, dangerous, and Marcus swore the kid seemed to like it when he was smacked hard onto the ground, seemed to relish it when he swung a bat at another kid’s head, blood painting the basketball court of the school.

  But he wasn’t just violent—Noah was brilliant. He topped every class effortlessly, outperformed even the privileged kids from stable homes. The school struggled to reconcile his violent streak with his undeniable academic gifts, their concerns fading quickly beneath the weight of the trophies and accolades he brought in. Noah Wen was trouble, but he was also prestige, something the administration would readily accept.

  Marcus saw Noah’s potential immediately. A kid with brains and brutality, smarts and ruthlessness—he was always going to end up in Black Lotus. Marcus decided he would make sure Noah landed there on his terms.

  The offer came quietly, casually. A paper bag dropped onto Noah’s table at the cafeteria, wads of cash inside, Marcus’s phone number neatly scrawled on a scrap of paper tucked within.

  “You could make that in a day. Call me if you’re interested.”

  Within hours, Noah called.

  Noah adapted quickly, demonstrating an intuitive grasp of crypto transactions, blockchain flows, digital laundering. He moved money with a speed and efficiency Marcus had never seen. Within weeks, Marcus’s reputation skyrocketed inside Black Lotus. And somewhere between transactions and hidden digital trails, Marcus realized he’d found something unexpected—a friend.

  Which was why now, Marcus had driven Noah to a quiet house in suburban anonymity. As the car rolled to a stop, Noah glanced at Marcus skeptically, suspicion clear in his narrowed eyes.

  “Oh honey, it’s perfect,” Noah drawled sarcastically, eyeing the house disdainfully.

  Marcus smirked. The only annoying thing about the kid was his damn mouth.

  “You need to learn to be normal,” Marcus said simply.

  Noah scowled deeper. “The fuck does that mean?”

  Marcus ignored his tone. “Can you cook?”

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  “No.”

  “Know how to get a driver’s license?”

  “No.”

  “Ever tried to get a library card?”

  “What the fuck would I want one for?”

  Marcus sighed, patience thinning. “Ever rented an apartment? Know how to start?”

  Noah glared, frustration evident. “You gonna fucking get to the point?”

  Marcus exhaled slowly. “Noah Wen, son of the great prostitute of Orchard Alley, needs to disappear. And you’re the only one who can make him disappear.”

  Noah squeezed his eyes shut, as though listening to him was a physical pain. “You sound fucking high,” he muttered bitterly.

  The front door of the house opened. Martha Caldwell stepped out, mid-to-late forties, curly hair cropped short in tight coils, practical clothes—soft jeans and a simple blouse—warm yet professional. She waved gently at Marcus, eyes patient, waiting.

  Marcus nodded toward her. “That’s Martha Caldwell. Old friend of mine. She helps people get out clean.”

  There was a long silence, a rare hesitation on Noah’s face. His voice was even, steady, but Marcus caught a slight tremor beneath. Noah was still young enough that his couldn’t quite keep the emotions deep enough.

  “Did I do something wrong?”

  Marcus’s jaw tightened painfully. “No.”

  “Then why are you kicking me out?” Noah’s eyes hardened, a cold flash of betrayal visible. “Why do I have to go?”

  Because I just buried a guy who was too much like you.

  Because someday they might make me bury you too.

  Marcus drummed his fingers restlessly on the steering wheel. “Maybe I wanna get out myself,” he admitted softly, and it wasn’t a lie.

  “Maybe I’m tired of this shitty life. And maybe,” he paused, voice dropping, “I feel guilty for bringing you into it.”

  He met Noah’s gaze directly, no evasion. “I should be the one who makes sure you get out clean.”

  Marcus sighed again, softening slightly. “You’re too smart, Noah. Listen to me. Take this chance. Take the money, go live like those other kids—the ones on the other side. Go to college, live normal.”

  Noah stared back, unreadable. “And you?”

  Marcus shrugged, saying exactly what Noah needed to hear. “I’ll lay low, do my job for now. And if things settle, maybe I’ll meet you on the other side someday.”

  Marcus motioned toward Martha, still waiting patiently. “Go.”

  Noah’s hand landed on the car door handle, hesitating a heartbeat.

  “Don’t look back, Noah,” Marcus said firmly.

  Noah gave a small, tense nod, and he didn’t look back.

  The car door shut with quiet finality, and Marcus drove away.

  For a long moment, Noah stood rooted in place, defensive tension radiating from every line of his body. Martha waited patiently on the porch, arms folded, expression unreadable.

  Eventually, he moved reluctantly toward her, fists stuffed defiantly into his pockets. “This isn’t some charity shit, right?” he snapped, chin raised, eyes hard.

  Martha raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by the bravado. “No charity. Marcus said you’re smart, and you’re gonna prove it by not wasting my time.”

  Noah scowled. “Fine.”

  She led him inside without fanfare. Her home was cozy, painfully ordinary. It grated on his nerves—the family photos, the framed artwork, the scent of something baking. All of it felt foreign, uncomfortable, almost mocking in its normalcy.

  At the kitchen table, Martha placed a hot bowl of stew before him, steam rising invitingly. Noah glared at it, waiting suspiciously for the catch. She just settled into the chair opposite him and began eating, ignoring his stubborn silence.

  Eventually, hunger won. Noah ate quickly, quietly, avoiding eye contact. It was delicious, but he’d be damned if he admitted it.

  Weeks passed slowly, Noah fighting every mundane lesson Martha tried to teach him. Grocery trips were battles of wills—him glaring at produce, muttering sarcastic comments under his breath.

  “That’s lettuce,” Martha corrected calmly, switching it with the cabbage in his hands.

  Noah groaned dramatically. “Who the fuck cares?”

  “You will when you’re cooking dinner.”

  Cooking lessons were worse. His knuckles turned white gripping knives and pans, his movements angry, resentful.

  “It’s not rocket science,” Martha said firmly, guiding his tense hand gently over the chopping board. “You’re smart enough to run crypto, you can dice a damn onion.”

  He glowered, annoyed that he was actually learning something.

  But gradually, stubborn resistance eased. Quietly, Noah began looking forward to the routine: folding laundry on weekends, Martha patiently correcting his uneven attempts at driving, her calm presence unwavering. Bit by bit, her lessons carved out space within him, softening his rough edges.

  Months became a year, two years. He found himself smiling sometimes without realizing, feeling safe in ways he never had before.

  One morning, he woke startled by sunlight filtering softly through the curtains, realizing he’d slept soundly for the first time he could remember.

  He’d never admit it, but Martha’s house had become home.

  When he graduated high school, it was Martha cheering louder than anyone else, pride shining openly in her eyes. Marcus joined them afterward, keeping his promise. They shared a quiet dinner, and Noah felt, for once, something dangerously close to belonging.

  Marcus had stayed true, had gotten out, joined Noah on the other side of that invisible line.

  But six months ago, Marcus was found dead.

  A suicide, they said—but Noah knew Marcus would never have left without fighting. Someone had silenced him.

  And now, after years, Martha had resurfaced—her name whispered in a dark club, linked to Key, Sammy Kwan, Serena’s disappearance. Dragging her back into the very darkness she had freed Noah from.

  Noah shut the water off abruptly, stepping out into the sudden chill, the air sharp against his overheated skin. Marcus was gone. Vivian stood beside him, closer now than ever.

  Martha had already sacrificed enough. Noah refused to let her become collateral in this sick game. He would find her, get answers about Key, and pull her out safely—whatever it took.

  But dread curled in his chest, heavy and bitter. He’d once promised Marcus he’d never look back.

  Yet here he was, staring straight into the past he’d tried desperately to escape.