Another funeral.

Felix stood quietly beside his mother, who was trembling with grief, her face streaked with tears that glistened in the soft, overcast light. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth, and the hush of the crowd felt suffocating. It was a place Felix had been to before, but this time, something was different. Something was shifting in his chest, tightening with each passing moment. His eyes lingered on the open grave, the casket barely visible beneath the sea of flowers. He felt his heart thud in his chest, but not with the usual ache. There was something new this time, something he couldn't quite name. He glanced at his mother again, her hand gripping his with a silent, desperate need, as if she feared losing him, too.

For the first time, Felix was beginning to understand the weight of it all — the finality of death, the loss that stretched far beyond the rituals and words spoken in sorrow. He realized with a jolt that he had been numb to this for so long, as if the pain had always been someone else's, always distant, just beyond his reach. Why was it that it was only now, in this moment, that the truth was sinking in?

Was he really just now beginning to comprehend what it meant to lose someone? To feel the empty space left behind? To face the quiet after the storm of grief had passed?

He looked around at the faces, at the quiet mourning of those around him, and for the first time, he truly saw it. The grief wasn't just a passing moment. It lingered. It consumed. It was a shadow that followed, no matter how many years passed. He hadn't realized it until now, but perhaps, in his own way, he had been running from it too.

Why had it taken so long for him to understand? Why did it feel like he was only just waking up to the reality of it all?

He kept looking at the crowd, his eyes scanning the sea of familiar yet distant faces. He felt a knot tighten in his stomach, a sense of waiting, of expectation. There was one person he had been searching for.

And then, through the crowd, he saw him. Jack Holmes. His uncle.

Felix's gaze lingered on him for a moment, taking in the familiar features of the man who had been a shadow in his life, always distant, always just out of reach. Jack stood a little apart from the rest, his expression unreadable, as though he too were feeling the weight of this moment in his own way. He was older now, graying at the temples, the years pressing hard into his face, but there was still something commanding about him, something that reminded Felix of the stories his father used to tell about the Holmes men — about their legacy, their strength. 

As the firstborn, the Holmes title had been passed down through his father, Aaron, and with it, a responsibility Felix never quite understood until now. His father's sudden death had left him scrambling, uncertain of what came next, of how to carry on. And now, with Aaron gone, Felix felt the enormity of it all crashing down on him. There was no clear guide, no firm path ahead. The weight of the family name had always been an abstract thing, something he hadn't fully grasped until now — until he was standing here, surrounded by mourners, facing the stark reality that there was no one left to look to except for the few remaining Holmes. 

Jack. His uncle. Felix's mind lingered on him. If there was anyone who could help him make sense of this, it would be Jack. But there was also a cold distance between them, an unspoken tension that Felix couldn't shake. Jack had never been a father figure to him, never offered the kind of guidance that Felix had hoped for. His cousins, too — distant, their lives woven into their own webs of privilege and expectation — had never seemed concerned with what was happening to him. No, Felix was left alone in this strange space, caught between the past and the future, trying to figure out who he was meant to become.

Now that his father was gone, he had no choice but to rely on the others who bore the Holmes name. Jack, and his cousins. They were his family, but that didn't make them any easier to understand. It didn't make them any less distant.

Felix felt a tightness in his chest. He wasn't sure what to expect from Jack, or what Jack might expect of him. All he knew was that the weight of his father's legacy had just become heavier, and he couldn't carry it alone.

Felix gathered what little courage he had left, the tightness in his chest making it hard to breathe, but he couldn't stay in the periphery any longer. He had to speak to Jack. He had to make this connection, however strained. He forced his legs to move, his feet heavy with the weight of the moment. 

"Uncle Jack," he said, his voice more steady than he felt.

Jack Holmes turned toward him, a flicker of recognition crossing his face before it settled into something more guarded. His jaw tightened, his expression as unreadable as ever. 

"Long time no see, Felix. I'm sorry we had to see each other again under… these circumstances.

Felix nodded, the words he'd been rehearsing in his head suddenly slipping away. He didn't know how to respond. The silence between them stretched on, thick and awkward, until Felix felt the pressure in his chest make it impossible to stand still any longer. It was as though a thousand questions were crowding in his mind, but none of them seemed like the right thing to say. 

Jack broke the quiet with a low, steady voice, his eyes narrowing slightly. 

"It was a Moriarty, wasn't it?"

Felix stiffened, the words landing like a cold slap. It was as if Jack had reached into the darkness and pulled the very thing Felix had been trying to avoid. 

"Yeah," he said, his throat tight. "She killed Evelyn too."

Jack's expression remained unchanged, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. 

"She?" Jack repeated, his voice low, the question hanging in the air.

Felix nodded, though the truth of it felt like a weight on his tongue.

 "Yes," he said quietly, "it's a woman."

The revelation seemed to hit Jack differently. He didn't say anything right away, instead staring past Felix for a moment as if trying to find the words. Then, slowly, he exhaled. 

"A Moriarty woman… I should've expected as much."

Felix had no idea what that meant. "What do you mean?"

Jack glanced at him, his gaze sharp. 

"The Moriarty family's been in the shadows for years, Felix. You don't rise to that level of power without a certain… ruthlessness. But a woman?" 

He shook his head, his lips curling into a slight, almost humorless smile. 

"I never thought one of them would get involved with something this big."

Felix frowned, his mind racing. 

"So you know them? You've heard of her before?"

"Not specifically," Jack said, his voice grim. 

"But I know their reputation. The Moriartys don't kill for money or power. They kill to send a message. And Evelyn —"

Felix felt a chill spread through him, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned in slightly, his voice low. 

"What do you mean? What's going on here, Uncle Jack? Why is this happening?"

Jack hesitated, as if weighing how much to say, before he spoke again, his words slow, deliberate. 

"Because you're not just a Holmes by name. This — " He gestured vaguely at the grave behind them, then at Felix himself. 

"This is bigger than you think. Your father didn't just leave you a title. He left you a mess. And now it's your turn to clean it up."

"Yeah... right. I have to clean it up." 

His eyes lingered on Jack, trying to find something to anchor him in this storm of uncertainty. His father was gone, Diana was hunting him down, and now, with the weight of the Holmes name pressing on his chest, he had no choice but to face this head-on. 

The thought of fighting the Moriartys — especially a woman, someone he couldn't quite understand — felt daunting, impossible even. How do you defeat a legacy of ruthless calculation and cold power when you're just trying to make sense of it all? Felix felt small, as if the world had suddenly grown too large, and he wasn't sure if he could ever catch up. 

But something stirred in him. He had to try. He couldn't just stand by, let it all spiral out of control.

"Uncle Jack," 

Felix said, his voice stronger now, edged with a new kind of determination. 

"Could I request help from your sons?"

Jack's eyes flickered to Felix, studying him carefully for a moment. He could see the shift in his nephew — the way his posture had straightened, the flicker of resolve in his eyes. Felix wasn't some helpless kid anymore. He had something to fight for, something worth protecting, and Jack respected that. His own face softened ever so slightly.

"Of course you can," Jack replied, his tone firm, the weight of his words grounded in experience. 

"No one fights alone, Felix."

Felix nodded, the relief in his chest almost palpable. For the first time in days, he felt like he wasn't entirely alone in this. His uncle's sons, his cousins, would stand beside him — people who knew the world of power, of danger, better than he ever could. Jack wasn't offering just moral support; he was offering resources, experience, and a team.

Felix didn't know what he was walking into. He didn't know the full extent of the Moriarty family, or how deep this web of violence and treachery ran. But he knew one thing for certain: he couldn't go at this alone. He couldn't face a woman like that — someone who could erase lives so easily — without the help of those who understood what was at stake.

"I don't know how to fight someone like that," Felix admitted quietly, more to himself than to Jack. 

"I don't know how to fight her."

Jack studied him for a moment, his expression unreadable. The wind rustled through the trees around them, a faint sound that made everything feel more distant, more surreal.