The alley smelled like wet concrete and burnt oil, a metallic tang that clawed at my throat. Shadows pooled in corners, thick and slow, like they were weighing me down before I even moved.
Clang… drip… echo…
Elliot waited at the far end, leaning casually against a rusted pipe. Calm. Too calm. That damn smirk that once made me trust him now had the subtle threat of a guillotine.
"You came," he said, voice smooth. "I knew you would."
I kept my hands visible, slow, deliberate. "Yeah, I'm predictable like that. Should I be flattered?"
He didn't answer. Just gestured forward. "It's safer this way. Let's move."
Step… splash… step…
Every instinct screamed trap, a neon sign blinking "walk carefully, idiot." But I followed, boots squishing in shallow puddles, mind racing.
Then it hit. The subtle slip. A discarded note caught my eye, folded just enough to hint at my name. Not him. Not casual observation. Someone wanted me found.
I froze. Heart kicking like it was trying to escape. Elliot's eyes flicked toward the note, and for a split second, that smirk faltered.
Trap confirmed.
"You planned this," I said, voice low, controlled. "Or someone else did."
"Who can say?" he replied, shrugging like a man with too many options. "The Syndicate's hands are long. Some pull, some fall. You get lucky, or not."
Drip… drip…
I forced a grin, dry and bitter. "Lucky me, then." Inside, I was cataloging every movement, every sound, every possibility for escape. Every betrayal had a scent. I could smell it now, thick in the damp air.
Elliot moved ahead, checking corners, opening doors I hadn't even noticed. Careful. Methodical. Calculated. And I followed, outwardly calm, inwardly sharp. Because if this was a game of trust, I was already three moves ahead.
Splash… shuffle… click…
By the time we reached the meeting point, I knew one thing: betrayal didn't always scream. Sometimes it whispered, soft and deliberate, just enough to make you doubt yourself.
And Elliot… he was whispering.