The air between them was thick with tension.
Kyle's heart pounded, but his expression remained calm—cold. Graves wasn't just another foot soldier from The Order. He was their best. The enforcer. If Kyle wanted to escape, he had to fight. But with Gia here? That made things messy.
"Let her go," Kyle said, his voice dangerously low.
Graves didn't even glance at Gia. "You know that's not how this works."
Gia tensed beside him, her breath unsteady. Kyle knew that look—fear. But not of him. Of the situation.
"Gia." His grip on her wrist tightened. "Run. Now."
Her eyes flicked to him, then to Graves, then back to him. "Not a chance."
Kyle clenched his jaw. Damn it.
Before he could argue, Graves moved.
A blur of black and silver. Too fast.
Kyle barely had time to shove Gia back before Graves was in front of him, a steel baton swinging for his ribs. Kyle twisted—just in time. The baton grazed his hoodie, sparks flying as it struck the brick wall behind him.
No choice now.
Kyle's palm split open. Blood poured out, twisting and solidifying midair. A crimson blade.
He slashed.
Graves blocked with his baton, the sound of metal and blood-clad steel colliding echoing through the alley. Sparks danced between them.
Kyle's arms strained against the impact. Graves was strong. A single misstep, and he'd be dead.
"You're getting slow," Graves taunted, pushing Kyle back.
Kyle grinned, blood trickling from his lip. "Nah. You're just getting old."
Graves' next move was brutal. He swung again, faster this time. Kyle ducked, sliding beneath him, twisting his wrist. His blood blade shifted, reshaping into a whip-like chain.
With a flick of his hand, it lashed out, aiming for Graves' arm.
But Graves was ready.
He caught the blood chain mid-air, yanking Kyle toward him.
Kyle stumbled—just for a second.
That second was all Graves needed.
A crushing knee to Kyle's stomach sent him flying back. He hit the pavement hard, pain exploding through his ribs.
"Kyle!" Gia's voice. Distant. Panicked.
Kyle coughed, trying to force himself up. His vision blurred. Graves loomed over him, baton raised.
Move.
His blood surged. The blade dissolved, reforming into a small, razor-sharp dagger in his palm.
Graves swung down.
Kyle rolled, stabbing upward.
The dagger sliced through fabric, grazing Graves' side. The enforcer hissed, stepping back. A hit. Not deep, but enough.
Kyle staggered to his feet, wiping his mouth. "Not bad for a 'slow' guy, huh?"
Graves didn't smile. He simply reached for his comms.
"Target engaged. Send backup."
Kyle's pulse spiked.
More were coming.
"We need to go," Gia urged, grabbing his sleeve.
Kyle glanced at Graves, then at the alley behind him. He could fight. He could win. But not with Gia here.
"…Tch."
Kyle grabbed her hand—and ran.
The night swallowed them whole. But he knew one thing for certain.
This wasn't over.
Not by a long shot.
_______