Lucas woke to the sound of rain pelting against the cracked window, the gray light of dawn barely creeping into the room. His body ached from the events of the previous day, every muscle reminding him of the chaos he'd been forced into. He turned his head slowly, seeing the figure from the previous night—Kael—sitting by the wall, sharpening a blade with methodical precision. The rhythmic shhhk-shhhk of metal against stone felt like a grim countdown.
"You're awake," Kael said without looking up. His tone was calm, but there was a weight to it—a sense that something dangerous was coming.
Lucas sat up, rubbing his temples. "Barely. You planning to use that thing on me?"
Kael gave a faint smirk. "Not unless you do something stupid. But we're running out of time. They'll be after us before sunrise is over."
Lucas remembered the confrontation—the masked enforcers, the alleyway fight, and the way Kael had cut through them like shadows through moonlight. He still wasn't sure why Kael had saved him… or why they were now apparently stuck together.
"What's the plan then?" Lucas asked, glancing toward the door. "Because if you think I'm just gonna sit here waiting for them to—"
"You're not sitting," Kael interrupted, finally sheathing the blade. "You're moving. We need to reach the old docks. Someone's waiting for us there. But the roads are being watched. That means we cut through the undercity."
Lucas frowned. "The undercity? You mean that flooded maze under the market? People vanish down there."
Kael finally looked at him, eyes cold but steady. "Exactly. That's why they won't expect us to go there."
Reluctantly, Lucas got to his feet. His boots were still damp from last night, and the thought of trudging through ankle-deep sludge didn't exactly thrill him, but he had little choice. He followed Kael out into the rain-slick streets, both of them moving in silence except for the distant echoes of watchmen's boots.
The entrance to the undercity was a half-hidden grate behind a rotting cart. Kael pried it open, the metal groaning in protest. The smell hit Lucas instantly—stagnant water, rust, and something far less pleasant.
"After you," Kael said.
Lucas gave him a withering glare but climbed down first, boots splashing into murky water. The narrow tunnels twisted like the veins of some buried beast, walls slick with moss and decay. Every sound seemed amplified—the drip of water, the slosh of their steps, and somewhere in the distance, the faint scuttle of something alive.
As they moved deeper, Lucas's nerves prickled. "So, who's this person we're meeting?"
"An old friend," Kael said simply.
"That's not reassuring."
They turned a corner, and Kael abruptly held up a hand. From the darkness ahead came a faint orange glow—a lantern swinging slowly. Figures emerged, their faces hidden under hoods, blocking the way forward. Lucas counted at least five of them.
Kael's voice dropped low. "Stay behind me."
The hooded figures spread out, their leader stepping forward with a cruel grin. "Kael. Never thought you'd crawl back here. And you brought a friend."
"Not here for you," Kael replied, his voice like steel. "Move."
The man laughed. "You know the toll. No one passes without paying."
Kael's answer came in the form of steel drawn in a single, fluid motion. The tunnel erupted into chaos—blades flashing, water splashing, the clash of metal echoing in the confined space. Lucas pressed himself against the wall, his heart hammering, watching Kael move like a shadow made flesh.
When it was over, the hooded men lay groaning in the water, their lantern extinguished. Kael turned to Lucas, his breathing steady. "We keep moving."
Lucas hesitated, staring at the defeated men. "Who are you?"
Kael didn't answer. He just started walking again, and Lucas had no choice but to follow.
Somehow, Lucas knew this was only the beginning—and whatever waited at the docks might be even worse than what they'd just faced.