Jaden stepped into his apartment, the door creaking behind him as he entered. The air inside was heavy with stillness. He hadn't been home in weeks—maybe months. The scent of dust hung in the corners of the room, and the floor carried footprints of a man who lived everywhere but here.
He peeled off his blood-stained clothes slowly, tossing them into the corner. His body bore the evidence of another brutal mission—scratches, bruises, and one deep gash along his upper arm. Still, Jaden said nothing. He never did. Pain was part of the process. It had always been.
Steam soon filled the bathroom as he stood under the warm water, letting it rinse off the dirt and dried blood. The water ran red for a moment before clearing. His hand brushed over the long scar across his side—the one that started from his face and trailed down like a reminder he couldn't escape. A gift from his father.
He closed his eyes for a moment, but not to rest. Just to breathe.
When he stepped out, he wrapped a towel around his waist, stood in front of the mirror, and studied himself. His reflection stared back: lean, strong, but cold. There was no softness in his eyes, no trace of a man who laughed or joked. Just silence and shadows.
Jaden dried off and dressed in a plain black shirt and sweats before heading to the kitchen. He made himself a simple meal—boiled rice, some vegetables, and dried meat he'd stocked before leaving last time. It wasn't anything fancy, but it filled his stomach. After eating, he rinsed the plate and went to the window.
His apartment overlooked a small garden behind the building. Trees swayed lightly, and the flowers below were just starting to bloom, catching the silver wash of moonlight. It was peaceful. Too peaceful.
He stood there, arms crossed, his face barely lit by the soft glow from the outside. He didn't smile. He rarely ever did. Trust didn't come easy for him—not after what happened with his father, not after the cliff. Not after everything.
As the breeze blew in, his arm itched. He looked down and noticed the blood seeping from the deep wound he'd gotten during the fight earlier. He walked over to the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of alcohol. No hesitation. He poured it directly onto the open wound. His jaw clenched, and his eyes turned red from the sting. A sharp groan escaped his lips—quiet, controlled.
He sat on the edge of his bed afterward, breathing through the pain.
His mind wandered. Not to the mission. Not to the demons. But to his father. A man he hadn't seen in years. A man who had left him to die and marked him with this scar. Jaden had never gone looking for him. He didn't need to. He believed fate would bring that moment, and when it did—his father would not walk away.
He didn't dream of revenge anymore. He planned for it.
Unable to sleep, as usual, Jaden grabbed a thick folder from the shelf—The DC Demon Record. Inside were files, pages filled with names, sightings, ranks, and locations of known demons. He flipped through them one by one, reading with sharp eyes. He memorized faces, movements, patterns. Every demon he killed brought him one step closer to the unknown. Closer to understanding the war he was part of. Maybe even closer to the truth behind what his father had done.
Outside, the wind picked up, swaying the trees.
Inside, Jaden sat alone with his silence and shadows.
He never complained. He just kept going.
That's all he ever knew how to do.