The morning came harsh and cold.
Grey clouds clawed at the bruised sky, and a bitter wind howled through the broken windows of their hideout. It wasn't just the chill in the air that made Elian shiver — it was the weight of everything they had unleashed.
Sleep had been a luxury none of them could afford. Every creak of the building, every gust of wind felt like the prelude to an ambush.
They sat together in the ruins of what once might have been a factory break room. The floor was cracked, paint peeled in ragged strips from the walls, and the table between them was a battered relic, its surface scarred by time and violence.
Maren spread the stolen files across the table.
Maps. Ledgers. Photos of men in suits shaking hands with devils.
Jonah leaned in, his sharp eyes scanning the documents with growing rage.
"Look at this," he growled, jabbing a finger at one page. "This isn't just drugs. Weapons, human trafficking, political assassinations—this whole city's been built on blood."
Marcus leaned back, running a hand through his hair. His voice was flat. "We knew it was bad. We didn't know it was this bad."
Lena spoke up from the corner, her voice trembling slightly as she stared at her laptop. "They have files on us too. Dossiers. Plans. They've been tracking us for years."
A heavy silence fell over the group.
Elian felt it gnawing at his gut — the sickening knowledge that they had never truly been free. They were rats in a maze built by monsters.
And the monsters were coming.
---
The attack came at dusk.
A black SUV roared into the factory yard, tires kicking up gravel. Men in tactical gear poured out, their faces masked, rifles raised.
"Move!" Elian shouted, diving for cover as bullets shattered the windows.
Jonah was already returning fire, his movements a deadly dance of precision. Maren dragged Lena to safety behind a collapsed wall, snapping orders.
Marcus tried to get to the van, but another SUV cut him off.
Trapped.
The firefight was brutal, desperate.
For every man they dropped, two more seemed to appear. Like shadows crawling out of the earth.
Elian ducked behind a rusted pillar, heart hammering.
This wasn't a warning.
This was extermination.
He caught a glimpse of a symbol stitched into the attackers' gear — a black wolf devouring a star.
Mateo's personal death squads.
This was it. No more running.
No more hiding.
They had to survive — or die making their stand.
---
Amid the chaos, something worse happened.
Elian saw Marcus, hands raised, stepping toward the attackers.
"No!" Elian screamed. But it was too late.
Marcus dropped his weapon — and one of the masked men pulled him behind a car.
The betrayal hit harder than any bullet.
Jonah cursed violently, firing at the spot where Marcus had disappeared. Maren's face twisted with rage and heartbreak.
"He sold us out," she snarled.
It didn't make sense. Marcus had been with them through everything — the prison breaks, the stolen nights, the promises whispered over broken bones.
But survival made men desperate.
And desperation made traitors.
---
They barely escaped.
Bleeding, broken, and carrying Lena between them, they slipped into the tunnels beneath the factory—ancient maintenance shafts forgotten by the city.
They staggered through the darkness, guided only by the dim light of Elian's cracked phone.
When they finally collapsed in a damp, rat-infested cavern, no one spoke.
The betrayal hung between them, a raw and festering wound.
Elian leaned his head back against the cold stone wall, feeling the weight of failure crush his chest.
He had trusted Marcus.
He had believed.
And now… Jonah was wounded, Maren's hands wouldn't stop shaking, and Lena was unconscious with a bullet graze to her side.
He wanted to scream.
He wanted to tear down the world.
But all he could do was sit there in the dark, feeling like the last spark of hope had been snuffed out.
-
Hours later, when the adrenaline had burned out and only raw pain remained, Maren spoke.
Her voice was hollow, but steady.
"We finish this," she said.
Jonah laughed bitterly. "Finish what? We're crippled. We've lost everything."
Maren's eyes burned through the gloom.
"We still have each other."
Elian looked at them—really looked.
Maren's battered face. Jonah's bloodied hands. Lena's fragile body cradled in a threadbare blanket.
Family.
Not by blood.
But by battle.
By choice.
He pushed himself to his feet, every muscle screaming in protest.
"No more running," he said.
No more hiding.
No more praying that someone else would fix the world.
It was their fight.
Their war.
And they would either burn the Cartel to the ground—or die trying.
--
By the time the first grey fingers of dawn clawed through the tunnels, they had a plan.
It was reckless.
Desperate.
Insane.
But it was all they had.
They would take the fight straight to Mateo's doorstep.
No more sneaking. No more hiding.
They would make a statement so loud, so undeniable, that the whole rotten system would tremble.
If they were going to die, they would die loud.
They would die fighting.
Maren strapped her last remaining grenades to her belt, a manic grin on her face. Jonah loaded the few bullets they had left, his hands steady despite the blood soaking his shirt.
Elian pulled the tattered city map from his pocket and marked their final destination with an X.
Mateo's stronghold.
The heart of the beast.
No reinforcements.
No backup.
Just them.
And the fire burning in their chests.
---
Before they moved out, they took a moment for those they had lost.
For the friends buried under fake names and forgotten graves.
For the promises made on rainy nights and broken rooftops.
For the versions of themselves that would never walk away from this alive.
Elian closed his eyes and whispered a prayer.
Not for victory.
But for courage.
When he opened them, he found Maren watching him, her expression raw and open.
"See you on the other side, fox," she whispered.
He nodded.
And together, they stepped into the dying night.
Not as fugitives.
Not as victims.
But as the storm they had always been meant to be.
---