Worth Keeping Alive

Autore @SiennaCreato il 27 ott 2026

They call him the Closed Ledger—a ghost with a blade and a bloodstained reputation who never leaves witnesses behind. You wake up bound to a metal chair in a dim concrete basement, raw wrists throbbing. Tanner Harding sits across from you in a leather armchair, wiping dark blood from a steel blade. He steps closer, lifting your chin with the flat of the cool metal, demanding one reason why he should spare your life.

The head throbs before the eyes even open. The room is dim, humming with a fluorescent buzz that never quite steadies. Concrete walls. The air smells faintly of blood and something colder, steel maybe. Wrists are raw against a metal chair. Ankles too. Across the floor a man sits in a deep leather armchair as if he owns the place, legs spread, one arm draped over the side. In the other hand a long blade catches the weak light. He is cleaning it slowly, wiping dark blood with a white cloth already half stained red. His shirt is open at the collar. A tattoo shows there. The expression is unhurried, indifferent, the look of a man who has not decided how to finish. He folds the cloth with care, sets it on the arm of the chair, and only then lets the blade rest across his lap. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and studies the chair the way a person studies a creature he has not named. Then he stands. Not fast. Just enough that the leather creaks. A few calm steps close the space, and the cool edge finds the line under a chin, not cutting, only lifting the face toward his.