The city was suffocating tonight.
Rain dripped from rusted fire escapes, slicking the pavement in an oily sheen. The air smelled of burnt rubber and electricity, a metallic tang that clung to my tongue. My pulse pounded in my ears as I moved through the alleys, keeping to the shadows. Every muscle in my body screamed from the last fight, but I couldn’t stop. I wouldn’t stop.
Elias was gone. And I was next.
I kept moving, listening. Watching. The city had its rhythm, its pulse—but something was wrong. It wasn’t just quiet. It was controlled. Engineered.
Then I saw them.
Six figures. No, eight. Tactical gear, matte-black armor designed to blend into the night. Their movements were synchronized and precise.
This wasn’t a random ambush. This was a kill box.
A voice crackled in my stolen
