Lucas moved through the narrow alley, the damp air heavy with the scent of rain-soaked brick and rusting metal. The distant hum of the city was muffled here, replaced by the slow drip of water from a cracked gutter. He kept his hood low, shadowing his face, but his eyes—sharp, restless—scanned every corner.
Behind him, footsteps echoed faintly. Not rushed, but steady. Too steady.
He turned at the next bend, slipping into a shadowed recess between two derelict buildings. His breathing slowed, his body tense. He waited.
A figure emerged—a woman, moving with deliberate grace, her boots barely making a sound on the wet pavement. It was the same stranger from last night, the one who had watched him from across the bar but hadn't approached. She stopped a few feet away, her gaze locking on him.
"You've been making noise," she said, her voice low but carrying an edge. "The kind that gets the wrong attention."
Lucas tilted his head. "Funny. I thought I was keeping it quiet."
Her expression didn't change. "Not quiet enough. You've stepped into something you don't understand, and now you've got eyes on you from both sides."
He stepped out of the shadows, just enough so that the dim light from the streetlamp caught his face. "Then maybe you should explain before I walk straight into the fire."
The woman's lips curved—half a smile, half a warning. "Names aren't important. What matters is this: the people you tangled with in that warehouse aren't your enemies… not compared to the ones coming."
Lucas's jaw tightened. He thought of the warehouse, the sharp smell of gunpowder, the chaos of flashing lights and desperate voices. "And you know this because…?"
"Because I used to work for them," she said simply. "Until I saw what they really were."
She glanced over her shoulder, as if sensing movement, then stepped closer. The faint scent of leather and cigarette smoke clung to her. "If you keep moving on your own, you won't last a week. You need someone who knows the maps they don't put on paper."
Lucas studied her, weighing the offer. Trust was a currency he rarely spent, and she was asking for more than she realized.
Before he could answer, a sharp metallic click echoed down the alley. Both of them froze. Shadows shifted at the far end—three figures emerging, dressed in dark tactical gear, faces obscured.
The woman cursed under her breath. "Too late. They found you."
Lucas's instincts kicked in. "Back door?"
She jerked her head toward a rusted side gate. "Go!"
They moved fast, splashing through puddles, boots thudding against concrete. One of the pursuers shouted—short, clipped commands—and then came the hiss of compressed air. A dart clattered against the wall beside Lucas's head.
They burst through the gate into a fenced yard littered with scrap metal. Lucas ducked behind a rusted engine block as another dart whizzed past. The woman drew a compact pistol from her jacket, firing two shots without hesitation. The sharp cracks echoed like thunder in the enclosed space.
One of the figures went down, clutching his leg. The other two split apart, flanking. Lucas grabbed a length of pipe from the ground, his grip tightening.
"Stay low!" she shouted, sidestepping to cover him.
A blur of movement to his right—Lucas swung hard. The pipe connected with a sickening crunch, sending the attacker sprawling.
"Move!" she barked again, grabbing his arm and dragging him toward a hole in the fence. They slipped through, stumbling into another alley that opened onto the main street.
The neon lights of the city hit Lucas's eyes like a shock. Car horns blared, voices called out, and the anonymity of the crowd swallowed them whole.
Breathing hard, Lucas looked at her. "You still think I don't understand what I'm in?"
She smirked, tucking the pistol away. "You're in deeper than you think. And this was just the first wave."
Lucas felt the weight of her words settle in his chest. Whatever game he had stumbled into, there was no turning back now.