Moonlight filtered through gym cracks, casting the ring in silver webs. Alex stood center, sweat-slick, Elena circling like a sensei from myth. Crew watched from benches—Scarface bandaged, Rico munching leftovers, Spike wide-eyed, Lena scribbling notes with covert glances. Freakshow or front-page gold?"Breathe," Elena commanded. "Shadows ain't toys. They're you—blood of old weavers. Feel the pull." Alex closed eyes. Tingling started in veins, spreading. Alley darkness slithered in, coiling at his feet like obedient smoke."Shape it." He willed a thread—thin as wire—lassoing a dangling bulb. It swung gentle. Crew gasped. "Now harden." The thread thickened, snapping a rope taut. Power thrummed, intoxicating.Spike edged forward. "Me too, Boss?" Elena shook head. "Rare blood. But loyalty weaves stronger." She tossed knives. "Practice blocks."Hours blurred: Alex dodged, shadows shielding like shields; repaired cracks with mending wisps. Exhaustion hit—power drained like battery. Lena approached during break. "This explains the 'ghosts.' But Draven? He's weaver-hunter. Old grudge.""Grudge?" Alex panted."Vinny crossed him. Stole a relic—shadow core. Journal has clues." Her hand brushed his—spark. "You're no mobster. Hero?""Survivor." But her closeness stirred more than shadows.Dawn neared. Rico burst in: "Scouts! Vipers tagged the docks—Draven's mark. Snake with fangs."Elena frowned. "Hounds come. Arm up." Alex tested a shadow blade—sharp as regret. Crew geared: bats, chains repurposed.Outside, fog rolled thick. A lone figure waited—Razor, battered, hands raised. "Truce, Kane. Draven's dumping poison at the harbor. Hits kids. Viper honor demands payback—but we need your... shadows."Betrayal or bait? Alex's senses sharpened unnaturally. "Prove it."Razor tossed a vial—glowing green sludge. "Sample. Join, or Harbor drowns."Shadows whispered: Nest stirs. Choice loomed.
