Ashes of the Stray

Barry Winks knelt in front of the humidor built into the bottom shelf of his bookcase — a discreet mahogany box with aged brass hinges. He flipped it open and let the scent of cedar and aged Nicaraguan tobacco rise, savoring it like a memory.

He selected an Oliva Serie V Melanio, holding it to the light with something close to reverence. The cap came off with a soft snick. He struck a flame and toasted the foot of the cigar with slow, deliberate precision.

A few pulls later, smoke curled from his lips in lazy spirals, painting the room in soft shadows. He turned toward the window, the skyline of Lexford stretching below him — sharp, silver, and unforgiving. The city buzzed in the distance — neon, steel, and secrets.

And then he smiled.

Not the kind that welcomed. The kind that warned.

A cruel, tight-lipped grin, carved in smoke and satisfaction, as if the bitterness of the cigar reminded him just how sweet revenge could taste.

“Haze…” he muttered, voice low like gravel shifting, “…you should’ve stayed down.”

He took another drag — deep, slow — and exhaled the beginning of a plan.

The phone rang, cutting through the haze. Barry glanced at the caller ID and answered without hesitation.

“Talk to me.”

“Barry,” said the voice on the other end — Paul Mason, his longtime legal fixer. “We need to move fast. The company’s reputation in Lexford is hanging by a thread. We can’t afford to look dirty.”

Barry sat down behind his desk, smoke still rising from the cigar between his fingers.

“You’re saying we need a fall guy.”

“I’m saying we need someone believable,” Paul replied. “Someone low enough not to damage the upper floors, but high enough that the story checks out. A scapegoat. Public apology. Statement of termination. Maybe a little jail time to sell it.”

Barry was silent for a long second, his eyes flicking toward the framed awards and stock certificates lining the wall — the illusion of success. Carefully constructed. Painfully delicate.

“I know just the guy,” he said.

Later that evening, deep inside the Lexford Tower offices — long after most lights had gone out — the door creaked open.

Evan Torres stepped in, shoulders hunched, jacket soaked from the drizzle still falling outside. He looked out of place here — in the polished office of Barry Winks, CEO of one of Lexford’s top-tier logistics firms.

Barry didn’t stand. He just gestured to the chair across from him and set the cigar down in a crystal ashtray.

“I’ll make this simple,” Barry said. “You take the fall.”

Evan blinked. “The fall… for what?”

“The recent shipment data leak. The forged invoices. All of it. Publicly, it was you. You acted without orders. Internal investigation will confirm it. You’ll confess and cooperate.”

“You’re out of your mind,” Evan said, half rising from his seat.

Barry slid a white envelope across the desk. Evan stared at it, then slowly picked it up and opened it.

A check.

Two hundred thousand dollars. Signed. Immediate withdrawal.

“That’s two years of your salary,” Barry said. “Tax-free. No questions asked. You’ll serve some time — a year, maybe less if Paul works his magic — and when you’re out, there’ll be a job waiting for you. Not here, but under one of our sister companies. Overseas, if you prefer. We’ll keep your name clean in our circles. Lexford’s got a short memory.”

Evan swallowed hard, the check trembling slightly in his hand. “And if I say no?”

Barry leaned forward, folding his hands on the desk.

“Then we deny ever offering you anything. We let the DA dig into your accounts, which they’ll find very interesting. Maybe your brother’s little side hustle comes up too. Or your girlfriend’s undocumented status. It’s not hard to let a story get messy.”

Evan sat back down slowly, jaw tight.

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

Barry gave him a faint smile — a mask of sympathy he didn’t mean.

“You’ve got more than most. Walk away with dignity, money, and a future. That’s rare in Lexford.”

Evan stared at him for a long moment, then nodded. “Fine. I’ll take the deal.”

Barry stood, extending his hand. Evan shook it reluctantly, then left the office without another word — the check still clenched in his fist.

Barry watched the door close behind him and picked up the phone again. He lit another cigar — slower this time — letting the silence of the room settle in.

“Paul,” he said when the line picked up. “It’s done.”

“Good,” came the response. “I’ll prepare the public statement and have PR ready by morning. We’ll leak it through the Lexford Ledger — they’ll spin it the right way.”

“And the board?”

“They’ll play ball. No one wants heat from regulators. You bought yourself some time.”

Barry exhaled, smoke curling like steam off a blade.

“Clean it up,” he said. “No loose ends. No second chances.”

Paul chuckled faintly. “This is Lexford. No one cares about the ashes — just who’s still standing when the fire’s out.”

Barry hung up and turned back to the window. The city still glowed beneath a soft curtain of rain.

In Lexford, everything had a price. And Barry Winks had just paid his — with someone else’s future.

Barry stood in the stillness of his office, cigar long extinguished, the scent of smoke still clinging to the air like a warning.

The city of Lexford sprawled beneath him — all glass, concrete, and quiet desperation. Rain tapped against the window in uneven rhythms, as if the storm was deciding whether to rage or wait.

He turned away from the view, mind already shifting gears.

It was time to stop watching and start acting.

He picked up his phone and scrolled until he found the contact.

“R.”

No full name. No photo. Just a single letter — like a whisper of something dangerous.

He hit dial.

The line connected instantly. No greeting. Just silence.

Barry didn’t waste time.

“I’ve got a name for you,” he said. “Lucian Haze.”

A faint clatter of a keyboard on the other end — distant, muffled.

“I want everything,” Barry continued. “Movements. Phone activity. Associates. Anyone he’s talking to, anywhere he goes, anything he’s looking into.”

Still no reply. He could hear breathing now — or maybe static. It didn’t matter.

“Dig into his past,” Barry added, voice tightening. “I want every piece. School records, employment, old friends, known enemies. If he’s ever crossed a line, I want to know where, when, and with who.”

Finally, a voice responded. Metallic. Filtered. Flat.

“How deep?”

Barry didn’t hesitate.

“All the way down. Leave nothing untouched.”

“Understood,” the voice said. “Tracking starts now.”

The call cut out.

Barry lowered the phone and set it gently on the desk, his fingers tapping once against the surface.

Lucian Haze had become a variable — unpredictable, irritating, and worst of all, unfinished.

Barry didn’t like loose ends.

He opened his laptop and brought up a blank document. The title he typed in all caps:

HAZE DOSSIER — LEVEL 4 PRIORITY

He stared at the screen a moment, then typed the first line beneath it:

“Subject under surveillance. Awaiting initial findings.”

The storm outside cracked with thunder, as if Lexford itself approved.

Two weeks later, the dossier arrived.

A plain, matte-black envelope was slid across Barry Winks’ desk at exactly 7:00 AM. No return address. No signature. Just the letter “R” inked in the top-right corner.

Barry poured himself a drink and opened it with care.

Inside: over sixty pages of surveillance, transcripts, academic records, street footage, orphanage documents, and a few blurry stills of Lucian Haze in motion — jogging, entering buildings, training.

Barry leaned back, flipping through the file slowly.

At first glance, it was… ordinary. Unremarkable.

Lucian Haze. Orphaned at age five. Raised in St. Delores Shelter, a co-ed orphanage in East Lexford. Kept a low profile. Quiet, disciplined, loyal.

Top of his class in high school. Competed in college-level MMA tournaments — mostly local, but with a solid win record. Part-time job at a downtown Italian restaurant. No criminal record.

Barry frowned.

Too clean.

He skimmed the police records. Only one visit on file — three years ago. Lucian had filed a complaint on behalf of a girl from his orphanage, one of his own. She’d been bullied and harassed by a well-connected college student.

The case went nowhere. Swept aside.

But two months later, something subtle happened.

The bully changed.

No campus event. No official apology.

Just… silence.

He stopped making noise. Avoided crowds. Sat in the back of lecture halls. Whispered an apology to the girl one morning behind the old library — discreet, unseen.

He faded.

Became a shadow, like he was hiding from something only he could still see.

The final section of R’s report held the key.

Unconfirmed, but clear.

Lucian had tracked the bully’s routine. Waited. Followed.

One night, when the guy wandered into the woods with friends to drink, Lucian found him alone and half-drunk.

He wore a black mask. Brought an iron rod.

What happened next wasn’t on any camera. But the hospital records were real. Broken ribs. Fractured wrist. Deep bruising. No charges. No statement.

Just silence.

After that, the bully never caused another problem — to anyone.

Barry shut the file and stared at the ceiling.

Lucian Haze wasn’t just another clean slate. He was smart. Quiet. Calculated.

The kind who only struck once — hard enough to leave a scar you never spoke about again.

Elsewhere in Lexford, under a gray drizzle just before sunrise, Lucian pulled his hoodie over his head and started his morning run.

The air smelled of wet concrete and city smoke.

He wasn’t alone.

There it was — the faint echo of extra steps. A car that always turned the same corners. The shifting reflection in a glass door just before he passed by.

He was being watched.

Lucian didn’t need confirmation. He already knew.

This was the fallout from going against Lora Corporation — and more specifically, Barry Winks.

He’d read the headlines. Corporate fraud. A perfectly timed confession from a disposable employee. A “rogue act,” they called it.

Too polished. Too easy.

Lucian smiled to himself. Pulled his hood lower.

They thought he was just a street-level nuisance.

They hadn’t seen what happened to the last person who underestimated him.

To be continued.