COVENANTS OF CHAOS

The city buzzed with its typical turmoil—a symphony of honking horns, distant sirens, and the soft murmur of people carrying on with their daily routines. For Lucas Kane, the sound merely served as a backdrop to the gradual disintegration of his own reality. His hand clenched the steering wheel of his worn delivery van, his knuckles white against the torn vinyl.

“Come on, come on,” Lucas murmured, looking at his phone on the dashboard. The GPS blinked with the message Recalculating route. This was the third occurrence this evening, and his patience was dwindling.

A voice distorted over his low-cost Bluetooth earpiece. "Lucas, you're behind schedule." Once more.

“I’m five minutes out,” Lucas replied sharply, his tone edged with frustration. He could hear **Tony**, his boss, exhale heavily on the other end.

“Five minutes is too late,” Tony snapped. “These people don’t wait. You screw this up again, and I’m docking your pay. You got that?”

Lucas bit back the urge to argue. What was the point? “Yeah, I got it.”

“Good. And don’t forget the cash tip this time. Last week’s stunt cost me a client.”

“Right,” Lucas muttered, though he didn’t remember any “stunt.” Tony always found a reason to dock his pay, whether it was his fault or not.

The call disconnected with a beep, and Lucas slammed his palm against the steering wheel. “Yeah, sure, dock me again. Why not? I’m already drowning, anyway.”

The vehicle shook as it rushed along the uneven pavement. Lucas looked at the tiny stack of envelopes resting on the passenger seat. Rent past due. Medical expenses accumulating. Alerts from the bank. He didn’t have to open them to understand their message. He had learned the vocabulary of urgency by this point: *Last Notice*, *Action Needed Right Away*, *Your Bill is Overdue*.

His phone vibrated, and he touched the display to respond without glancing.

"Lucas?" The voice coming from the other side was gentle, delicate.

“Hi, Mom,” Lucas remarked, his tone changing immediately. "How do you feel?"

There was a moment of silence, and then Evelyn Kane spoke once more, her speech deliberate and measured. "I'm okay, darling." "Simply... weary, that's it."

“You took your meds today, right?” Lucas asked, weaving the van around a pothole. He already knew the answer.

“I—I will,” Evelyn replied hesitantly. “I was just waiting for you to get home. You know I don’t like doing it alone.”

Lucas exhaled through his nose. He hated that he couldn’t be there all the time. Hated that he had to rely on these late-night shifts to keep the lights on and the medical bills from swallowing them whole.

“I’ll be back soon, okay?” he said, softening his voice. “Just a couple more runs, and then I’m done for the night.”

“Don’t push yourself, Lucas,” Evelyn said, her voice laced with worry. “You’re doing too much.”

“Someone’s gotta keep us afloat,” Lucas replied, forcing a chuckle. “I’ll see you soon, Mom. Love you.”

“Love you too, sweetheart.”

The call ended, and Lucas let the silence fill the van. It wasn’t long before his phone buzzed again, this time with a text. He glanced at it quickly.

**Moretti’s crew stopped by. Said they’ll ‘be back soon.’ Be careful.**

His stomach twisted as he read the message from his downstairs neighbor. The Moretti family wasn’t just any gang—they were *the* gang. The kind of people who didn’t ask twice when they wanted something. Lucas’ father had owed them money years ago, and when he died, the debt hadn’t disappeared. It had just shifted to Lucas and his mom.

“Awesome,” Lucas whispered quietly. "That's precisely what I required."

Sure! Please provide the text you want me to paraphrase.

As he neared his next drop-off, the rain began, a constant drizzle that caused the streets to shine beneath the streetlights. Lucas drove to the curb, jumped out of the van, and took the brown paper bag from the rear. He ran up the stairs of an old apartment complex and tapped on the door.

A lean, tall man responded, his gaze shifting anxiously around the corridor. "You've arrived late."

“Sorry,” Lucas said, holding out the bag. “Long night.”

The man snatched the bag and shoved a crumpled bill into Lucas’ hand. “Don’t let it happen again.”

“Sure thing,” Lucas muttered, turning back toward the van. He didn’t bother checking the tip. It wouldn’t be enough, not tonight.

As he slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine, his phone buzzed again. Another call. He glanced at the screen. Unknown number.

He hesitated, then answered. “Hello?”

“Lucas Kane,” a deep, gravelly voice said. The kind of voice that didn’t ask—it commanded. “We need to talk.”