KING OF THE CONCRETE JUNGLE

Chapter Nine — The Room Without Windows

The bed was too soft. The sheets smelled faintly of lavender. His shoes were gone. So was his watch. A set of folded clothes sat neatly at the foot of the bed, not his own.

The room around him was rectangular, walls paneled in smooth dark wood. There were no windows, only a single brass door. A muted lamp glowed on a low table beside the bed.

It didn’t feel like a cell. It felt like a hotel room in another century, He swung his legs over the side, the cool floor sending a shiver up his spine. The door opened before he could even approach it.

A woman entered, moving with the deliberate grace of someone who had spent a lifetime in high society. She wore a black dress with a thin silver chain at her throat.

Her hair was streaked with grey at the temples, though her posture was ramrod straight. “You’re awake,” she said.

Ethan stared. “Where am I?”

“You’ll have your answers,” she replied smoothly, “but first, you’ll have breakfast.”

A second person entered, pushing a cart. The scent of fresh coffee hit him like a wave. A silver dome covered a plate. The man who wheeled it in kept his head bowed the entire time, never looking Ethan in the eye.

The woman gestured to the table. “Sit.”

Ethan hesitated. “I’m not eating anything until I know who took me.”

The corner of her mouth twitched, but it wasn’t amusement. “Then you’ll be very hungry.”

She turned to leave. “Wait,” Ethan said. “That man last night, the one in the suit. Who is he?”

Her hand froze on the door handle. She didn’t turn. “Your benefactor,” she said softly.

The word hung in the air. Benefactor. “Why me?”

At that, she looked back, and her eyes carried something that made the hair rise on his neck. “Because your father owed him more than he could ever repay.”

The door shut. Ethan sat in the stillness, his thoughts racing. His father? His father had died when Ethan was twelve. He had been a quiet man, a mechanic, not the sort who got tangled in whatever this was.

Unless… Ethan didn’t know the whole story, He moved to the plate and lifted the silver dome. Eggs, toast, a single strip of bacon arranged neatly. His stomach growled despite himself, He took a bite.

Halfway through, a sound drifted through the wall. Faint, rhythmic. Like a distant hammering. He pressed his ear to the paneling.

It wasn’t hammering. It was… knocking, Three taps. Pause. Three taps again, Ethan knocked back, mimicking the pattern, The answering knock was faster, urgent.

He found the source: a seam in the wood near the far corner. Up close, it wasn’t a wall at all, but a panel that fit so perfectly it was almost invisible. He pushed.

It gave way an inch before catching on something, The knocking stopped. Then, a whisper. “Don’t trust the man in the suit.”

Ethan’s heart slammed against his ribs. “Who are you?” he whispered back. No answer, Instead, a scrap of folded paper slid through the gap at the bottom.

He snatched it up. Four words, scrawled in messy ink: “They’re watching. Play dumb.”

A metallic click made him spin around, The brass door opened again, and the man in the suit stepped inside. Pale eyes fixed on him. “Enjoying your stay?” he asked, voice calm but carrying the weight of someone used to obedience.

Ethan clenched the paper in his fist, hiding it from view. “I want answers.”

The man smiled faintly. “Then you’ll get them.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small black box.

He placed it on the table. “Inside,” he said, “is the first thing your father ever stole for me.”

Ethan stared at the box. His fingers itched to open it, But when he finally did, the sight inside stole the breath from his lungs, and made him realize just how far from safe he really was.