The rain came down harder, drumming against the shattered windows of the warehouse. Lucas stood in the center of the dimly lit space, his coat dripping, his breath steady despite the chaos that lingered in the air. Across from him, the figure from before—Elias—leaned casually against a steel column, though the faint tremor in his left hand betrayed his unease.
"You've changed," Elias said, his tone halfway between admiration and accusation.
Lucas gave a faint smirk. "Or maybe you never really knew me."
The tension between them was thick, a rope pulled taut and ready to snap. The previous night's encounter—filled with feints, threats, and unspoken truths—had left more questions than answers. Lucas still wasn't sure if Elias was here as an ally, an enemy, or something more complicated.
"You think this city is your chessboard," Elias continued, pushing off from the column and pacing slowly. "But every piece has its own mind. You can't control all of them."
Lucas's eyes flicked to the shadowy corners of the warehouse, where faint movement hinted at watchers—Elias's men, no doubt. "Control isn't the point," Lucas said. "It's about keeping the board from burning."
That earned a low chuckle. "And here I thought you thrived in the flames."
For a brief moment, their gazes locked—two men who had walked the same streets, fought the same battles, yet chosen diverging paths. Elias had always been unpredictable, a man of shifting allegiances. And tonight, Lucas needed to find out just which way he was leaning.
"Tell me why you're really here," Lucas said, stepping closer. His boots echoed faintly on the wet concrete. "Because you don't risk showing up to talk."
Elias tilted his head, lips curling into something that wasn't quite a smile. "There's a shipment coming in. Big enough to shift the balance in this city. I want in. And you…" He paused, studying Lucas's face. "You're going to help me."
Lucas didn't answer immediately. He measured his breath, letting the silence stretch just enough to make Elias uneasy. "You're assuming I care about your balance," he finally said.
"You care about stability," Elias countered. "If the wrong people get their hands on this, we'll have more than just a turf war—we'll have chaos. And don't pretend you're fine with that."
The problem was, Elias wasn't wrong. Lucas had been tracking whispers of this shipment for weeks. Weapons, tech, maybe something worse. If it fell into the hands of the rival factions already circling like vultures, the fragile order he'd been maintaining would crumble overnight.
"Where and when?" Lucas asked at last.
Elias's smile sharpened. "Two nights from now. Pier 17. But there's a catch—there's another player in this game. Someone I think you've met."
Lucas felt his jaw tighten. "Who?"
"Her name's Raven."
The name hit like a cold blade between the ribs. Memories of a black-clad figure, eyes like shards of obsidian, flickered through his mind. She was a ghost in the city's underworld—appearing without warning, striking without hesitation, and vanishing before anyone could react. And the last time Lucas had crossed her path, it had ended in blood.
"This isn't just a grab," Elias went on, watching Lucas carefully. "It's a war waiting to happen. And if you're smart, you'll be on my side when it starts."
Lucas took a slow breath, weighing every word, every implication. Trusting Elias was like walking into a storm with no umbrella—but sometimes, the storm was better than the fire.
"Fine," he said. "But if you're lying to me…" He let the threat hang in the air.
Elias's smirk didn't waver, but his eyes gleamed with something dangerous. "Then you'll do what you've always done—make sure I regret it."
The rain outside turned into a relentless downpour, as if the city itself was warning them of what was coming.
And Lucas knew one thing for certain—whatever waited at Pier 17 would change everything.