“Evening,” Ash said, forcing cheer into his voice. “You’re out late.” Mr Braxton, their landlord didn’t smile. “Evening. I heard voices. Laughter. Figured maybe you’d won the lottery and forgotten to tell me.”It was probably one of the neighbors that alerted him cause he wasn't living in that particular place. He had other houses to stay. So because he was poor, he didn't have the right to happiness? He thought silently.Ash chuckled lightly. “Ah, nothing that dramatic. Just… appreciating art of the night sky.” “Appreciating the art of the night sky doesn’t pay rent,” Braxton said flatly. “You know why I’m here.” Ash stepped aside. “Come in for a seat? It’s nicer out here, but the chairs inside are very...” “I’m not here to sit, Booker. I’m here for the eighteen months’ rent you owe me.”“Eighteen already? He asked rhetorically. ”How time flies,” Ash said, as though remarking on the weather. “Feels like it was just yesterday we were at twelve.” Braxton’s frown deepened. “Don’t joke w

One man whistled sharply. “Braxton, should we help you throw his things out?” Braxton grinned at the suggestion. “Maybe I should. Let’s see how quickly he finds the money then.” The idea caught on. Someone shouted, “Let’s get the mattress first!” Laughter followed, louder this time.Tessa’s cheeks burned red, her eyes darting between the faces, some cruel, some curious, all fixed on them like spectators at a street fight. Her voice trembled as she said, “We’ll pay. I swear we will. Just… please let us keep our dignity.” Her words were met with a low chuckle from a man leaning on a wooden crutch. “Dignity? In a compound like this? Pay your rent, then talk about dignity.”Braxton gave Asher another shove, forcing him a step forward. “Tell them you’ll pay me, Booker. Tell them when.” Ash’s voice was flat. “End of the month.”A woman cackled. “End of the month! That’s two weeks away. By then, maybe he’ll owe nineteen months!” The cruelty stung more than the landlord’s grip. Ash could feel

The night air was cool against his skin as Ash walked briskly toward the main road. The streetlights pooled dim light onto the cracked pavement, their hum blending with the occasional distant sound of motorbikes.The timing couldn’t have been worse.A taxi slowed beside him. He climbed in, gave the driver the name of the station, and sat back, his hands gripping his knees.Ben was only twenty-four. Young enough to still make dumb choices, old enough to know better. Ash had always felt responsible for him since they found themselves at the door of that orphanage that day, he was just four and he was holding his 1year old brother's hand. Memories from when he was much younger he couldn't even recall, probably because he was far too young to remember. He’d pulled his young brother out of trouble more times than he could count—late rent(although he himself was battling with his), gambling debts, even a bar fight once. But this… this was different. Theft carried a weight that could crush a

Ash’s mind was still buzzing from the morning’s chaos at the county jail. His brother’s hollow eyes and snatched breakfast haunted him, but he kept telling himself to push it aside. His wife, Tessa, must have dropped Nora at school by now. That thought was his only comfort , at least one part of the morning had gone right.The cab jerked to a stop in front of the company gates. Ash straightened his tie, brushed invisible dust off his worn shirt, and stepped out. Surprisingly, he actually made it to the company by 9:00.But something was wrong. The wide iron gate, usually open, were shut tight. Two uniformed security guards stood on the inside, arms folded, blocking entry.Ash approached, forcing a polite smile. “Morning. I work here. Could you open the gate?”One of the guards gave him a flat look. “Name?”“Asher Booker”The guard raised an eyebrow, as if the name meant nothing. “Never heard of you.”Ash felt a flicker of irritation. “I was hired by your secretary,uh, Miss… Henderson,

Ash stepped into the stairwell, the door closing behind him with a hollow clang. The air was cooler here, but stale, carrying the faint smell of damp concrete. Each step downward was dimly lit by flickering bulbs, the kind that buzzed faintly as if they too were tired of being here.The files in his hands weren’t heavy, but the awkward stack forced him to keep his arms bent at an uncomfortable angle. By the time he reached the basement, his shirt clung to his back.The basement door creaked loudly when he pushed it open. Inside, the storage room looked like it hadn’t been touched in years. Boxes were stacked haphazardly, some leaning dangerously, their labels faded or curling off. A thin layer of dust coated everything, and somewhere in the shadows, water dripped steadily into a metal bucket.He spotted the old filing cabinet where these documents likely belonged, but as he crossed the room, something scuttled across the floor, a rat, its tail vanishing behind a box. Ash froze, heart