The rain had stopped, leaving the air heavy with the scent of damp earth and the faint tang of smoke. Lucas walked down the narrow alley behind the old market, his footsteps splashing in shallow puddles that reflected the faint glow of streetlamps. He kept glancing over his shoulder. The city at night wasn't safe—not for anyone, and especially not for someone carrying the information he had.
A soft rustle came from the shadows ahead. Lucas froze, his hand instinctively drifting toward the hilt of his blade.
"Relax," a voice whispered. A figure emerged from the darkness—a lean man with sharp eyes and a coat too long for the weather. "You're late."
Lucas exhaled slowly. "And you're impatient."
The man's lips curved into a faint smirk. "You have it?"
Lucas didn't answer immediately. Instead, he scanned the alley walls, the rooftops above, and the street beyond. The paranoia wasn't without reason—two nights ago, he'd caught a pair of silent stalkers tailing him. They were patient, waiting for the right moment.
"It's not safe to talk here," Lucas muttered, stepping past him. "Follow me."
They moved deeper into the maze of backstreets, where the hum of the city faded into the stillness of forgotten corners. Lucas led them into an abandoned warehouse with shattered windows and walls covered in faded graffiti. Only the distant drip of water broke the silence.
He pulled a small packet from his coat and tossed it on a dusty workbench. The man's hands darted forward, greed flashing in his eyes as he unwrapped the package. Inside were thin, weathered pages bound together by a brittle string—pages taken from the archives, written in a cipher most people had forgotten.
"This is dangerous material," the man murmured, flipping through the pages. "You're playing with fire, Lucas."
Lucas gave a bitter chuckle. "The fire was already burning. I'm just showing them where the sparks are coming from."
The man's smirk vanished. "You have no idea how deep this goes. These records… they don't just name names—they connect the dots. Once the wrong people see this, you'll be hunted."
Lucas met his gaze without flinching. "I already am."
A sudden noise—a faint creak from above—snapped both their attention upward. Lucas signaled for silence. In the dim light, the rafters above seemed empty… but instinct told him otherwise.
He moved toward the shadows along the wall, his blade sliding free with barely a whisper. The man tucked the packet under his coat and took a step back.
From the rafters, something dropped silently—a figure dressed in dark leathers, landing like a shadow given form. The intruder didn't hesitate, lunging straight for the man with the packet.
Lucas was faster. His blade met steel in a sharp clash that echoed through the empty warehouse. The fight was quick but brutal—slashes, feints, and the scrape of boots on concrete. The attacker was skilled, but Lucas had the advantage of knowing the terrain.
With a swift pivot, Lucas slammed the intruder against a wall, disarming them with a twist. The blade clattered to the ground.
The masked figure stared at him through narrow eye-slits, breathing hard. Lucas didn't need to see their face to know—they were one of the silent stalkers from before.
"You've been following me," Lucas said flatly.
The figure didn't respond.
Lucas's eyes narrowed. "Tell your masters they'll need more than one shadow to stop me."
He let the attacker stumble away, disappearing into the night as silently as they'd come. The man with the packet looked shaken.
"This is only the beginning," Lucas said, wiping the blade before sliding it back into its sheath. "And if we're going to survive it, we'll need to move fast."
The man nodded, but the weight of fear in his eyes said it all—whatever Lucas had set in motion was about to spiral far beyond their control.