The night had settled over the city like a heavy curtain, muffling sounds and swallowing the edges of every building in the thick fog rolling in from the river. Lucas stood on the rooftop, the damp air clinging to his clothes, making him feel like the mist itself was wrapping around him in a cold embrace. Below, the streets were quiet, but he knew that silence was deceptive. Somewhere in that haze, his enemies were moving.
The memory of the last confrontation still burned in his mind. The figure from the previous night—the one who had effortlessly dismantled his defenses—was unlike anyone Lucas had faced before. It wasn't just about strength or skill; it was as if the person knew every step Lucas would take before he made it. And now, with the strange alliance he had forged with his unexpected companion, they were playing a dangerous game neither fully understood.
"Still brooding?" a voice came from behind him.
Lucas turned, spotting the same figure from the warehouse—leaning casually against the metal door leading to the stairwell. The man's hood was down now, revealing sharp features and eyes that seemed to shift between warmth and cold calculation.
"I'm thinking," Lucas replied. "There's a difference."
"Thinking's dangerous if you don't do anything with it," the man said, stepping forward. "We're running out of time. Whoever's behind this… they're not just coming for you. They're setting something much bigger in motion."
Lucas frowned. "You're talking like you know more than you've told me."
The man smirked faintly, but there was no humor in it. "Let's just say I've been down this road before. And trust me—it doesn't end well for anyone who hesitates."
For a moment, neither spoke. The fog swirled around them, and somewhere far off, a single siren wailed, then faded. Lucas had learned to read people over the years, and everything about this man screamed danger—but also necessity. Whatever his motives, he was here because their paths had been forced together by the same threat.
Finally, Lucas broke the silence. "Fine. We move at first light. But you're going to tell me everything before then."
The man's lips curved into the faintest of smiles. "Deal. But first, we need to retrieve something they're after—before they get it."
Lucas raised an eyebrow. "And what exactly is that?"
Instead of answering, the man tossed him a small, weathered piece of paper. Lucas unfolded it and saw a crude map, hand-drawn but marked with a single red X in the heart of the industrial district.
"You've got to be kidding me," Lucas muttered. "That place is a fortress."
"That's why we go tonight," the man said simply. "Fog's on our side. And if we wait, that X will be empty by morning."
Lucas knew this was reckless—borderline suicidal—but there was something about the man's unwavering certainty that made it hard to refuse. Against his better judgment, he pocketed the map.
As they descended the stairs, Lucas caught a glimpse of movement in the fog below—a shadow too large to be just another drifting wisp. He froze, his instincts screaming. The man noticed too, his hand already moving to the weapon at his side.
"They're here," the man said quietly.
Lucas drew in a deep breath, his pulse quickening. The night had just turned from tense to deadly, and the fog was no longer just a cover—it was a hunting ground.