The morning is grey and swollen with warning.
I sit at the edge of the estate's balcony, cigarette untouched between my fingers, watching the fog settle over the treeline like a blanket trying to suffocate the world. Everything feels muted—colorless. Like the land itself is holding its breath.
The meeting is in three hours.
And I haven't spoken to anyone since the message.
Behind me, I hear the soft creak of the balcony door. No knock. No hesitation. Only one person here has that kind of arrogance.
Alejandro.
I don't turn.
"You didn't sleep again," he says, voice quieter than usual. Not smug. Not cruel. Just observant. "You're going to burn out."
"I've burned worse things," I murmur.
He steps closer, the smell of leather and gun oil trailing with him.
"Phoenix called," he adds.
That makes me turn.
"When?"
"Just now." He holds up a phone—not mine. One of his burner cells. "Said he wants an update before we head out. I told him you'd call."
I snatch the phone, dial, and pace.
It doesn't take long before Phoenix answers. No hello. No warmth.
Phoenix: "You ready?"
Raven: "I'm breathing, aren't I?"
He exhales sharply on the other end, a sound somewhere between frustration and relief.
Phoenix: "Alejandro still with you?"
I glance back. He's watching me, arms crossed, face unreadable.
Raven: "Yes."
Phoenix: "Keep your head straight. The meet is close. I don't like that it moved up."
"I don't either."
A beat of silence.
Phoenix: "Raven..."
His voice softens. Cautious.
Phoenix: "If something happens, and you have to choose—him or the truth—"
"I'll burn the whole damn city down if I have to."
Another pause.
Phoenix: "I know."
The line goes dead.
I stare at the phone in my hand, heart drumming like a warbeat in my chest.
Behind me, Alejandro hasn't moved.
"You two talk like lovers about to say goodbye," he says quietly.
I bristle. "He's my brother."
"Not by blood."
I whirl on him. "What the fuck is your point?"
He tilts his head. "Just wondering how long you've been lying to yourself about what you feel."
My fist clenches so tight it shakes.
"You know nothing about me."
"Don't I?" he says, stepping closer. "I've seen how you breathe around him. How you don't breathe when he walks away. You cling to him like he's the last tether holding you upright."
"Shut up," I whisper.
Alejandro's voice stays maddeningly calm. "You want him to save you. But he won't. He can't. Because he's drowning too."
I lunge before I know it, shoving him against the balcony railing. His breath catches—but not from fear.
From anticipation.
"Say his name again, and I'll slit your fucking throat."
He grins. "There she is."
I shove him harder, fury blooming in my chest like a forest fire with no wind.
Then I step back. Breathing heavy.
"I'm not yours to dissect," I snap.
"No," he agrees. "You're something far more interesting."
He straightens his coat and steps past me like nothing happened.
"Come inside," he says over his shoulder. "We leave in thirty."
I don't follow him immediately.
I watch the trees.
I listen to the wind.
And I wonder how many more cracks I can take before something inside me finally breaks beyond repair
The city fades behind us like a fever dream.
Alejandro drives with one hand resting on the wheel, his posture far too relaxed for someone who just slit a man's throat an hour ago. I sit beside him in silence, my mind a storm of static and half-formed thoughts. The road ahead curves into the docks—Dock Nine, specifically. That's where the Viper's contact is meant to be. That's where this all leads. And yet the closer we get, the more my skin itches, the more my thoughts twist.
I don't trust this.
Not the intel, not the timing, and sure as hell not the man driving the car.
The fog rolls in thick and low, coiling through the industrial skeleton of the port like smoke from a dying fire. It clings to the steel shipping containers stacked like coffins, and it hides things—movements, shapes, danger. I used to like fog. Robin did too. We'd sneak out at night in weather like this, whispering stories about ghosts and traitors and monsters that only came out when the world blurred at the edges.
Now? I hate it.
It reminds me too much of us.
"You're quiet," Alejandro says, glancing sideways.
I ignore him.
The silence stretches, heavy. Intimate in the worst way.
"I thought you'd be more talkative," he continues, tone almost light. "After last night, I expected you'd at least insult me."
"I don't have the energy to waste."
He smirks, fingers tapping a rhythm on the steering wheel. "No, but you've got enough to stew in all that righteous fury. Impressive."
"I'm not furious," I mutter.
"Mm. Could've fooled me. You broke a wine glass and a chair. You called me a sociopath—"
"You are one."
"Probably," he admits without missing a beat. "But that's not why you're angry."
I shift in my seat, fingers twitching near the knife sheathed at my thigh.
"Let me guess," he murmurs. "You're angry because I killed Kessler. Or because I did it too cleanly. Or maybe because part of you wanted to do it first."
"I'm angry because you smile while people bleed."
He laughs, deep and unbothered. "Better than crying, isn't it?"
"I wouldn't know. I don't cry."
Alejandro looks at me then—really looks—and there's a flicker of something in his eyes. Not pity. Not amusement. Something harder to pin down. Respect, maybe. Or recognition.
I hate it.
I hate how he sees things I work so hard to bury.
"You know," he says after a pause, "you're not as cold as you want people to think."
"And you're not as clever as you think you are."
That earns a quiet chuckle. "Touché."
The dock smells like rust and salt and something sour beneath it all—old oil and rot. Fog curls low over the water, thick like smoke, swallowing the shapes of abandoned crates and rusted cranes. Everything here feels forgotten. Untouched. Like the place itself is waiting to be buried.
Alejandro kills the engine a block away. We don't speak as we get out. The silence is a truce neither of us offered but both of us need. I check the knife at my hip, the small pistol holstered at the small of my back. Alejandro already has a blade in one hand, cigarette in the other.
"You ready?" he murmurs.
"I'm always ready," I mutter, brushing past him.
The gravel crunches beneath our boots as we move in tandem, cutting through the early morning chill. There's no birdsong here—no sound at all but the faint lapping of black water against rusted steel.
We're almost at the edge of the dock when Alejandro slows.
"There," he says, tilting his head toward a shadow slouched beside a shipping container. A man. Alone. Hands in his pockets. Watching the water like he's waiting for something—or someone.
The contact.
His posture's too loose. Too calm. Not a lookout. He's the one.
I step back slightly into shadow while Alejandro keeps walking.
"Easy," I whisper. "Let me circle wide."
He doesn't argue. Just nods once and keeps his pace slow and casual as I melt into the fog.
Circling behind the crates, I keep low, every movement deliberate. My breath clouds in the air, heartbeat steady, but my thoughts are shards. Kessler's blood is still drying beneath my nails. I haven't washed my hands. I didn't want to. Some part of me wanted to feel it longer.
To remember what happens when the lies run out.
I round the far edge and come up behind the man, close enough now to see the glint of a weapon tucked into his waistband.
Alejandro's twenty feet away and closing.
The man finally shifts, turning toward him—and I freeze.
I know that face.
Not well. But enough.
He used to be one of ours. Not family, not council—but trained. Black Clan, adjacent. One of Father's loyalists who "vanished" after the compound collapse two years ago. I remember his name now: Dane.
This just got more complicated.
"Morning," Alejandro says easily.
Dane tilts his head. "You're early."
"I'm always early," Alejandro replies. "Makes the rats nervous."
Dane smirks. "You're not him."
"No," Alejandro agrees. "But I brought someone you'll like even less."
That's my cue.
I step out from behind the crate, gun raised.
Dane goes still.
"Raven," he says slowly. "Didn't think I'd see you again."
"Bad luck," I say flatly. "Put your hands where I can see them."
"Funny. I was just about to say the same to you." He raises his hands, and I see it again—that subtle shift in weight. He's stalling.
"He's not alone," I say sharply.
Alejandro nods once and whirls around just as a second man lunges from the shadows, blade gleaming. The two clash violently, Alejandro ducking the first strike and slamming his attacker against the container.
I don't have time to watch.
Dane lunges.
I dodge left, catching his arm, twisting, slamming my knee into his side. He grunts, but recovers fast, grabbing the collar of my coat and trying to throw me backward.
I don't let him.
I slam my head into his nose.
It breaks with a crunch.
He stumbles back, blood gushing, just in time for Alejandro to shove his now-unconscious attacker to the ground and turn toward us.
"Don't kill him!" I snap, stepping forward.
Alejandro pauses. "Why not?"
"He used to work for my father."
Alejandro raises an eyebrow. "Even more reason."
I shove Dane hard into the container. "Talk. Now."
He groans. "You want the Viper? He's already gone. He left this morning—he's heading to Sector Four. He's meeting someone named Kade. That's all I know."
Sector Four. That's at least an hour south.
"You're lying," I say coldly.
"No—I swear. Look in my pocket. There's a burner. Check the last message."
I reach down and fish out the cheap phone. Sure enough, there's a message timestamped twenty minutes ago: "Change of plans. S4. Same price."
I toss it to Alejandro, who scans it, then looks at me.
"He's not bluffing."
"Good," I murmur, and bring the butt of my pistol down on Dane's head. He crumples.
Alejandro watches him fall, then glances at me.
"Remind me not to get on your bad side."
"You're already on it," I say, brushing hair out of my face.
Alejandro grins. "Still. Impressive."
I turn away, pulse hammering.
We leave the two bodies—one unconscious, one groaning—and retreat to the car. The drive this time is faster, tighter. No music. No jokes. Just silence thick with blood and unfinished tension.
Halfway back to the estate, my phone buzzes.
Phoenix.
PHOENIX: You alive?
RAVEN: Yeah. Got a name. Kade. Sector Four.
PHOENIX: That's council territory. Be careful. Don't get burned.
RAVEN: I won't.
PHOENIX: Did Alejandro kill him?
I hesitate.
RAVEN: No. I did.
Phoenix doesn't reply after that.
I lock the phone and stare out the window. The fog's lifting now, but everything still feels hazy. Like something's coming. Something bigger. Alejandro glances at me but says nothing.
Not yet.
We arrive back at the estate just as the sun breaches the horizon. The sky is streaked with bruised orange and the faint outline of rainclouds moving west.
Inside, everything is still. Too still.
He leads me past the marble atrium, into a side room I haven't seen before. It's dark—paneled in heavy wood, lined with old maps and broken clocks. A fire smolders in the hearth.
Alejandro closes the door behind us.
"What now?" I ask.
He lights a cigarette and leans against the desk. "Now we plan."
"And then?"
His eyes meet mine.
"Then we hunt."