Dylan’s eyes remained fixed on Eli’s face, tracing every line, every shadow. His gaze was heavy with pain, a raw ache that seemed to reach deep into his soul. But beneath that pain was something more fragile, almost fragile enough to shatter with the slightest pressure: a flicker of hope. It was the hope that somewhere inside Eli, beneath all the anger and bitterness, there was still a part of him that wanted to be saved.He took a slow, deliberate step forward, each movement measured as if he was trying not to startle a wild animal. His voice broke the heavy silence, low but clear, trembling just enough to betray the storm of emotion roiling inside him.“Eli,” he said softly, voice barely above a whisper yet carrying through the thick, tense air. “Please… this isn’t who you are. We don’t have to end it like this. We can fix it — together. You’re not alone. Not anymore.”Eli’s hand tightened on the detonator in a grip that made his knuckles go white, the thumb hovering dangerously ove

⸻ They ended up in a run-down apartment above a closed shop. Dylan locked the door behind them. Vivian sank onto the couch. “So what now?” “Now,” Dylan said, “we figure out who those people are and why they want Eli.” Eli crossed his arms. “And then?” “Then,” Dylan said, “we end it.” Vivian looked between them. “You really think we can take them down?” Dylan met her eyes. “We have to.” Eli leaned back against the wall. “You’re dragging yourself into something you don’t understand.” “Then explain it,” Dylan said. Eli hesitated. “They’re not just some gang. They’ve got reach. Money. Power.” “Names,” Dylan said. Eli’s eyes darkened. “The Syndicate.” Vivian frowned. “Never heard of them.” “You’re lucky,” Eli said. “But now they’ve seen your faces. You won’t stay lucky for long.” Dylan’s voice was steady. “Then we hit first.” Eli gave a bitter smile. “You’ve changed.” Dylan shook his head. “I’ve just remembered what matters.” Eli studied him for a moment, then nodded slow

The group left the small armory in silence, each of them holding onto their chosen weapon. The night air was cold, biting against their skin as they walked back through the narrow paths of containers. The harbor lights flickered above, casting long shadows that made everything look more dangerous.Dylan walked in front, his pistol tucked at his side, jaw still tight. His thoughts spun faster than he liked. Tomorrow night. Too fast. But if we wait, maybe Marcus is right—the Syndicate will strike first.Vivian broke the silence first. “You two look like someone just told you the world’s ending.”Eli shot her a glare. “That’s because it probably is.”Vivian smirked. “You’re such a ray of sunshine, Eli.”He muttered under his breath. “Better a realist than a fool rushing in with a knife.”Vivian stopped walking and turned sharply, her eyes flashing. “Say that again.”Dylan raised a hand quickly. “Both of you—enough. We don’t have the luxury to fight each other.” His voice was steady, but

Dylan’s body ached as he leaned back against the wall. His knees cracked when he pulled them closer to his chest, and he almost laughed bitterly. I’m too young to feel this old, he thought. But the laugh never made it out—he didn’t want to wake either of them.Vivian sat where the weak lamp light just touched her face. Shadows carved into her cheekbones, and for a moment, she looked less like a fighter and more like a ghost. Dylan wondered if she’d ever let herself cry, or if she’d already forgotten how.She caught him staring. “What?” she asked, voice sharp but quiet.“Nothing.” He turned away quickly, embarrassed. “Just… wondering how you keep going.”Vivian smirked faintly, though her eyes stayed cold. “You think I keep going because I want to? You think I don’t lie awake wishing I could throw it all away, disappear, pretend none of this ever happened?”Eli shifted on the couch, grumbling. “You’d never survive a quiet life, Vivian. You’d be bored to death in a week.”That made her

Dylan’s breath hitched. The grin, the voice—it was wrong, like it had been pulled apart and stitched back together. He’d seen men twisted by war, by hunger, by madness. But this wasn’t that. This was something else.The figure staggered forward, blood dripping from a wound in its shoulder, yet it didn’t slow down. Instead, it tilted its head at Dylan like it knew him. Like it had been waiting.“Don’t you recognize me?” it rasped.Dylan’s chest went tight. His pistol trembled in his hand. “No… no, that’s not possible.”Vivian’s eyes darted between them, sharp and calculating. “Dylan. Talk to me. Do you know this thing?”But Dylan couldn’t answer. His throat closed up as the figure stepped into the weak glow from the flickering lamp.For a split second, Dylan’s heart stopped.The face—half-torn, scarred, but there—was familiar. Too familiar.“Rory,” Dylan whispered, voice breaking.Vivian blinked. “Who the hell is Rory?”“My brother,” Dylan said, barely audible. His pistol lowered a fra