Chapter 54: Setting Trap
The sun had barely risen when Emily Blackwood stepped out of her high-rise apartment, her icy-blue hair concealed beneath a dark hooded cloak. The early city air was crisp, brushing softly against her pale face as her sharp orange-red eyes scanned the streets casually. She was dressed differently today, simple, understated, nothing that screamed elegance or drew attention.
But someone was watching and she could feel it.
She didn’t glance back and continued.
Her boots clicked softly against the pavement as she walked, her posture calm and unbothered, yet every step was deliberate. She turned a corner, crossed the street, and entered a quieter alley between buildings—one she knew well. It was a shortcut to the bookstore she occasionally visited, but today, it served another purpose.
’f someone’s following me... let’s see how bold they are’.
Emily walked steadily until she reached the middle of the alley. Then, she stopped. Her eyes flicked to a glass pane beside her, catching a faint reflection.
There, a figure paused at the alley’s entrance hooded, just like her. Trying not to be obvious.
A smirk tugged at her lips.
She resumed walking but took a different turn, weaving through narrow pathways, making sure each one grew less crowded than the last. Her senses were heightened — years of hiding had taught her how to notice the quiet things: the change in footsteps, the pattern of shadows, the subtle breath of someone who didn’t belong.
The moment they entered the third alley behind her, she vanished. No footsteps, no trace.
The pursuer blinked.
"What the—?"
Before they could react, a sharp, cold blade pressed gently against the side of their neck. A hand covered in a black glove grabbed their collar from behind, dragging them into the shadows of a crumbling wall.
Emily’s voice was a whisper, laced with venom and amusement.
"Not many people are dumb enough to follow me. So, who sent you?"
The cloaked figure stammered, but Emily twisted the blade slightly, her breath tickling his ear.
"Lie, and I’ll make your tongue an ice sculpture."
"I-I was just told to watch you!" the man gasped. "No harm! Just observe and report!"
"By who?"
"I-I don’t know his real name! Just a contact! A middleman! He paid well and gave a photo!"
Emily’s brows furrowed. ’Someone wants to know who I am’.
She leaned in closer. "What exactly were you told about me?"
"Only... only that your name’s Emily Blackwood. That you’ve been laying low and that you’re dangerous."
Emily smiled darkly. ’So, someone knows something. Not everything. But enough to be afraid.’
She withdrew the blade and spun the man around, staring directly into his eyes.
"Tell your employer this," she said coldly. "If they’re curious... they should come ask me themselves. I love entertaining guests."
She flicked her hand and a sudden gust of chilling wind slammed the man backward, sending him sprawling onto the alley floor. Shivering, he scrambled to his feet and bolted, never once daring to look back.
Emily stood still, watching the empty alley long after he was gone.
"They’re getting braver," she muttered, adjusting her hood and stepping back into the early morning sun. "Time to speed things up."
-------
Western District — Three Hours Later
The western district was always louder, rougher, and wilder than the rest of the city. Broken neon lights buzzed above cracked signboards, and the scent of oil, street food, and smog mixed in the air. Unlike the shining corporate towers or the quiet noble quarters, this place thrived in chaos — where danger lived in plain sight and secrets moved with the wind.
Alex adjusted the hood of his dark coat as he entered the heart of it. His golden eyes scanned the street with trained precision. It was a place he’d visited many times during solo missions, and yet today, it felt different.
He lit a cigarette, more out of habit than need, letting the smoke mask the tension simmering beneath his calm exterior. His mind still swirled with the conversation he had earlier with Peter. ’Emily Blackwood, Elizabeth’s twin... Hidden for years. Possibly the puppet master behind too many recent events.
But now he had something more: a location.
According to Peter, Emily had been spotted in this district more than once over the past week — slipping in and out of obscure buildings, often disguised, always alert.
He moved through the marketplace, weaving past beggars, gamblers, mercenaries, and street performers. Some of them gave him a second glance, likely recognizing the face of "Hero Necro." He didn’t care. If someone tried to get in his way, they’d regret it.
Then he reached the target.
A rundown building nestled between a fortune teller’s shack and an abandoned bar. The exterior was worn and the windows fogged, but the place was too well-guarded for its shabby appearance. Two men stood by the entrance, pretending to be street punks but the bulge of weapons beneath their clothes said otherwise.
Alex watched them from a distance before taking a side alley and climbing up a fire escape. From the roof, he observed through a broken skylight. Inside, the lower floor was empty, but voices echoed from beneath. It seems like a basement.
He dropped down silently, landing like a shadow. The creaky floor didn’t betray his weight. As he moved to the trapdoor near the back, he paused. Voices became clearer.
"We have to report back, she noticed the tail."
Emily’s name wasn’t spoken, but Alex knew. He felt it strongly.
"She threatened him. Said she’d entertain guests personally. What the hell does that mean?"
There was a pause, then another voice — calmer, older.
"It means we’ve poked the bear."
Alex’s eyes narrowed.
So Emily wasn’t just hiding — she was retaliating. She knew someone was after her. And she didn’t seem afraid.
Alex stepped away from the trapdoor, he didn’t need to confront anyone yet. Not here. Not now.
What mattered was that the trail was real.
He exited through the rear and walked into the busy street again, lost in thought.
Emily had vanished from the world only to reappear years after Elizabeth’s death. Her return wasn’t a coincidence. She’d infiltrated circles quietly, monitored people with precision, and even taunted those brave enough to follow her.
She’s not just a villain hiding in the dark, she was planning something. And Alex intended to find out what. He pulled out his phone and dialed Peter.
"She knows we’re watching," Alex said the moment Peter picked up.
There was silence before Peter replied, "Then we move faster. Before she disappears again."
Alex exhaled, tossing his cigarette. "I’m going to need something stronger than cigarettes for this one."
"Want backup?"
"No. Not yet. I work better alone."
"Just don’t die," Peter said. "I hate reviving dead friends."
Alex chuckled faintly before ending the call.
~Later That Evening – Abandoned Warehouse on the Edge of Western District~
The warehouse was dead quiet, save for the occasional whistle of the wind slipping through shattered window panes. Rusted beams groaned with the weight of years, and dust danced in the faint moonlight streaming from holes in the roof. This place had been empty for years — forgotten by the city, perfect for people like Alex who operated better in the shadows.
He stood near a metal workbench covered in old tools and blueprints, his coat hanging from one side, revealing the sleeveless black shirt clinging to his frame. His arms, lean but packed with strength, moved with purpose as he laid down maps, surveillance photos, and a list of confirmed sightings Peter had sent over.
There, in the center, was her — Emily Blackwood.
The image showed her walking out of a hotel, head lowered, a scarf covering the lower half of her face. Still, the unmistakable icy-blue hair in braids and those piercing orange-red eyes glared even through grainy pixels.
"She’s careful," Alex muttered to himself, tapping his finger against her photo. "Too careful."
The warehouse had become his temporary base while he operated in the western district. He had no intention of returning to the apartment just yet — not after Zia’s display, not with Miranda possibly watching, and certainly not while Emily moved like a ghost through this side of the city.
Alex moved to the whiteboard he had dragged in earlier and started scrawling with a black marker. He wrote down three key things:
Location Patterns
Behavioral Consistency
Weak Points
Peter had tracked Emily to four separate buildings, all within a three-mile radius of this warehouse. All low-traffic locations. No cameras. He drew a triangle connecting the dots, then circled the center.
"She’s operating within this zone... but why?" he murmured, half to himself.
He started pacing, cigarette now forgotten behind his ear. The night air drifting in was cool, but his mind burned with theories.
"She noticed someone tailing her and reacted. Not with fear, but defiance." He stopped. "That’s not survival. That’s control."
Alex leaned back against the cold steel of a support beam, eyes trained on the map. "She doesn’t just hide. She watches. She selects who sees her. She’s playing a bigger game."
He pulled out another photo, this one was not from Peter. This one had cost him a contact and a favor he might not be able to repay.
It showed Emily sitting across from a known smuggler — one who worked for the organization Alex suspected was feeding the hero association false intel. If Emily was meeting with them, it changed everything.
He sat down on an overturned crate, elbows resting on his knees, fingers steepled beneath his chin.
"This isn’t about Elizabeth anymore," he muttered.
He remembered her — Elizabeth, the cold yet vulnerable girl who stood beside him in fights, argued with him like a rival, and at times, smiled like a friend. Her death had left behind an ache, one he buried beneath missions and bloodshed.
But Emily? Her existence pulled at something else.
Deception.
He opened his phone and started drafting a message to Peter.
’Need you to forge a report. Spread a rumor that a hidden lab connected to necromancy has been discovered near the docks. Make it loud enough for Emily to hear.
Peter replied almost instantly.
’Won’t that put you in danger? They might think it’s you.
Alex stared at the screen before replying.
’That’s the point. She’ll come. If she’s interested in necromancy like I suspect, she won’t be able to resist’.
He pocketed the phone and rose to his feet. The plan was beginning to take shape.
But it couldn’t be a simple confrontation — not with someone like Emily. She was unpredictable, possibly stronger than Elizabeth had ever been. He needed to control the field.
Alex grabbed a radio device and tuned it into a private frequency.
"Archer," he said.
After a short delay, the static cleared and a tired voice replied, "You just woke me up. This better be good."
"I need you to rig a few locations with listening devices. And I need it done tonight."
Archer yawned. "Who are we spying on this time?"
"A ghost," Alex said. "A very dangerous one."
He laid out a map for Archer to follow when he arrived. Three hidden recorders in three buildings Emily had visited — her movements, her conversations, everything would be recorded.
If he couldn’t confront her outright, he’d dissect her motives from the shadows, piece by piece.
Alex stood before the window, the western skyline glittering faintly in the distance. A storm was brewing, not in the skies, but within this very city. He could feel it in his bones. Every step Emily had taken was deliberate.
And for the first time in a long while, he wasn’t sure if he was the hunter or the prey.
But that didn’t matter, he would still face her.
