My Bratty Wife

The chill of the pre-dawn air did little to cool the feverish anticipation burning within Byron. He sat in his carriage, the rhythmic clatter of the wheels on the uneven track a counterpoint to the frantic thrumming of his own heart. Beside him was Elias.

Byron meticulously reloaded his dueling pistol, the metallic clicks sharp and precise in the dim interior. Each movement was deliberate, a ritual before the hunt.

"Is the carriage making good time, Elias?" Byron asked, his voice a low, controlled hum. "We must reach those damnable ruins before Ryan does. Commander Thorne must not have his little chat with my dear brother. His secrets die with him tonight." Or, if Ryan was already there, both would die. The spy’s report had been clear: Ryan was meeting Thorne. Byron intended to intercept that meeting with fatal finality.

Elias, his gaze fixed on the passing darkness outside the carriage window, merely nodded. "We will arrive shortly, My Lord. The driver understands the urgency."

The ruins of St. Jude’s Chapel stood naked against the moon-drenched sky, a forgotten relic east of the city walls. Crumbling stone walls, overgrown with ivy and shadowed by old, gnarled trees, created an atmosphere of creepy desolation. It was the perfect place for secret meetings and for ambushes.

Byron’s carriage halted a discreet distance away, and he and Elias alighted, melting into the shadows like ghosts. They moved stealthy towards the chapel’s crumbling main entrance, a gaping archway that looked like the maw of some beast.

A lone figure stood just inside the archway, silhouetted against the faint light filtering from within the ruins. As Byron stepped into view, the figure turned. It was Thorne.

"Welcome, Your Grace," Commander Thorne greeted, his voice calm and steady as he opened the dilapidated door wider. He had clearly been expecting Ryan. "I have been waiting for your arrival."

Then, Thorne’s eyes focused properly on his visitor, and his polite, expectant expression froze. A flicker of something – surprise, perhaps, or recognition – hardened his features. "Lord Byron," he said, his voice now a low, dangerous rumble, lacking any form of welcome.

Byron allowed a small, chilling smile to play on his lips. He stepped inside the ruins, Elias following silently at his heels. The air within was damp and smelled of old stone and decay. "I’m sure you weren’t expecting me, Commander," Byron purred, his gaze sweeping the shadowed interior. "Or perhaps... you were?" He feigned a casual air, but his senses were on high alert.

Without warning, he raised his pistol and fired a shot into a deep alcove to his left, where a stack of fallen crates created a pool of impenetrable darkness. A muffled cry, a thud, and then silence.

He looked at Thorne, his smile widening. "Careless of Ryan to leave his men so obviously positioned. I bet there’s another one in this room, wouldn’t you say?" He smoothly swiveled, pointing his gun towards a shadowed recess on the opposite side of the ruined nave. He fired twice in quick succession. A grunt of pain, the clatter of a dropped rifle, and the distinct sound of another body collapsing heavily to the ground.