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Jacob Durand

F reedom has a sound.

It echoes in the quiet crack of the final lock. In the low hum of footsteps across wet asphalt. In the ragged breath of a man reborn—not through mercy, but through sheer, brutal will.

Jacob inhales the night like it’s scripture.

The world hasn’t changed much. It’s still filthy, still crawling with men who want things they don’t deserve. Still hungry for softness to ruin.

But he has changed…or so he thinks.

The world thought they had buried him behind stone and steel, never to be heard of again. They thought they buried justice. But they mistook the cage for the end. Fools . All of them. You do not chain a storm. You do not cage a ghost.

Now, he walks unseen.

Now, he hunts.

The years have not dulled the image of her—his Juliette. His little rosette. She is so grown now, all bloomed in the world too cruel for such beauty. And alone, perhaps. Or worse, surrounded by wolves in sheep’s clothing. Men with wandering eyes and filthy minds. Men who dare to look at her.

He can not allow it.

She is sacred. Meant for no one. Touched by no one. Not a soul deserves her. Not a soul understands her. Only he does. As he understood her mother.

His Elodie Anne.

Sweet, special Elodie, who lingers in every line of Juliette’s face. Her voice, her laughter, her pain.

He will find her. And he will take her away from the cities that corrupts, from the people that lie, from the hands that have dared to touch her.

He will reclaim what was always his. Keep her in silence. In safety. Away from the disease of men.

She will be his second chance.

She will be his resurrection .

And if—if some man has dared to stake a claim on her, dared to press his lips where none should, to sleep beside her and call her ‘mine’…

Jacob’s hand clenches at that thought. His breath turns to ash.

No. He won’t allow it.

He has already dug graves before.

He isn’t afraid to dig more.

THE END