The boys met at Ringo's place every Saturday evening to collect their packages for the week ahead. It was their unspoken rule ̶ five o'clock sharp, no delays. They'd gather at the same spot, same time, get their stash, and disperse like shadows. But that particular Saturday, Samuel was running late. He'd been doing errands for his mother ̶ picking up fabric, groceries, things she needed for her sewing orders. It took longer than expected. By the time he finally made it across town to Ringo's building, it was already past seven. He knocked once, twice, then again louder. There was a moment of silence, and then the sound of footsteps approaching the door. It creaked open. Standing in the doorway was Esther, Ringo's younger sister. She looked even cuter than she did the last time he saw her ̶ which was barely a week ago. Her dark, smooth ebony skin glowed faintly under the hallway light. Her dark eyes met his ̶ curious and a little amused. She had full lips, barely glossed, and a slight smile that made Samuel's heart beat a little faster in his chest.
"Hi," she said casually, stepping aside to let him in.
The apartment was warm and modest ̶ a cozy two-bedroom flat with a narrow hallway leading to the bedrooms and a small living room cluttered with worn-out furniture, video game controllers, and an ashtray that was almost always half-full. Samuel noticed right away that the living room was empty. The others had already come and gone. No surprise ̶ it was two hours past the meet-up time. As Esther led him inside, he caught the faint sound of soft music playing from one of the back rooms ̶ a low, slow R&B; track, smooth, rhythmic. Then the moaning started ̶ low at first, then clearer, a woman's voice. Samuel tried not to react, but Esther did. She gave a little cough and averted her eyes, pretending not to hear it ̶ the music, the moaning, the thin stream of cigarette smoke leaking out from under the closed bedroom door. It all filled the small apartment with an awkward tension. Samuel cleared his throat. Esther handed him a small plastic bag wrapped tightly at the top"The package," she mumbled. "Ringo said to give this to you."
He took it. His fingers brushed against hers for a split second. His mouth opened as if to say something ̶ maybe flirt a little, maybe stay just a minute longer. But another moan echoed through the apartment, louder this time. His words caught in his throat. "Thanks," he said finally. Esther nodded, arms crossed, her eyes flitting toward the hallway. Samuel lingered for just a moment longer, then stepped out into the night. As the door shut behind him, he let out a long breath. Something about that visit unsettled him. He couldn't tell if it was the sounds, the timing, or just the way Esther's eyes had lingered on his as she closed the door. He walked off into the dark, the package in hand. By midweek, Samuel had fallen back into his routine. The night was humid, quiet, and dangerously still. He was on a delivery run. It was around 10 p.m., the weight of the package tucked under his arm felt heavier than usual ̶ like it somehow knew the risk had grown. Samuel was no stranger to the streets. He moved like a ghost through the alleys and shortcuts he'd memorized over the years. School had never been a part of his life ̶ the city was his classroom, and every shadow taught him how to survive. But that night was different. A robbery had taken place a few houses from where he was passing. Police were swarming the area, and Samuel hadn't seen them until it was too late. One of the officers spotted him ̶ a young boy out late, alone, carrying something in a black paper bag. "Hey, kid," the officer called. "What are you doing out here? What's in the bag?" Samuel's palms began to sweat. His heart pounded like a drum in his chest. He stammered something, trying to sound casual, but the cop wasn't buying it. "Let me see that bag." Before the man could get closer, Samuel bolted. He ran ̶ his breath short, his legs pumping, the soles of his shoes slapping against the cracked pavement. The footsteps behind him grew louder. Panic twisted in his gut, but Samuel knew these streets like the back of his hand. He ducked into an alley, leapt over a low fence, and climbed into the dark crevice between two buildings. He pressed himself into the shadows, clutching the package to his chest, covering his mouth to muffle his breathing. A beam of light swept past. The officer was close ̶ too close. Samuel's heart thudded violently. For a moment, he was convinced the man could hear it. Then ̶ silence. The beam disappeared, footsteps faded, and Samuel exhaled slowly, silently. He waited until the coast was clear before emerging from his hiding spot. Taking no chances, he took a longer route home, avoiding all major roads and sticking to back paths. By the time he finally got back to their apartment, it was well past midnight. His mother was pacing at the door, her eyes wide with worry. "Samuel! Where have you been?" He gave her a sheepish smile. "I'm fine, Ma." She hugged him tightly, her hands trembling. He didn't tell her what had really happened. She didn't need more things to be afraid of. But he smiled ̶ that full, satisfied smile he always wore after a successful delivery. They'd eat well tomorrow. No food for a lazy man. The weekend came. No more police encounters, no close calls ̶ just the usual hustle. Samuel felt himself slipping deeper into the game. But what else was he supposed to do? The money was good. The work, though dangerous, gave him a sense of purpose. At exactly 4:07 p.m. on Saturday, Samuel knocked on Ringo's door. The knock echoed down the quiet corridor, followed by the sound of soft footsteps approaching from within. After a moment, the door creaked open ̶ and there stood Esther. She looked tired. Her eyes were rimmed with shadows, like she hadn't slept well. She wasn't smiling ̶ not like usual. There was a flicker of disappointment on her face when she saw Samuel standing there alone. She stepped aside to let him in without a word. Samuel entered the apartment and glanced around. The place was quiet, almost too quiet. The warm hum of chatter and muffled music that usually drifted from one of the bedrooms was absent. He sank into the worn couch in the living room while Esther busied herself moving around in that distracted, anxious way people did when they didn't know what to do with their hands. It didn't take long for Samuel to realize something was off. There was tension in the air ̶ thick and unsettling. He looked over at Esther as she stood by the kitchen counter, fidgeting with a glass of water she hadn't taken a sip from. That's when it all began to make sense. Ringo hadn't been home ̶ not since Friday morning, before Esther left for school. She hadn't seen or heard from him since. At first, she hadn't thought much of it. Ringo was known to keep late nights, and sometimes he'd crash at someone else's place. But by that evening, when her calls went unanswered and his phone rang endlessly without a response, a gnawing unease had started to creep in. She'd waited through the night ̶ still nothing. By Saturday morning, she was worried enough to go by his girlfriend's place, but the girl had moved out the night before ̶ her room already half empty, her number disconnected. No leads, no messages, no explanations. Now Samuel could see it clearly ̶ the fear behind Esther's forced calm, the way her eyes kept darting to the front door as if expecting him to walk in at any moment. She wasn't just anxious. She was scared. He tried to offer a few words of reassurance, but they sounded hollow, even to his own ears. She nodded along, but her eyes never really met his ̶ not fully. He told her they should wait until the rest of the gang arrived. Maybe Ringo had just gotten caught up somewhere. Maybe it wasn't what they were both starting to fear. Maybe. So they waited. But with every passing minute, the silence grew heavier. And when the rest of the boys finally began to arrive, the air in the apartment shifted again ̶ weariness mixing with confusion. No one had seen Ringo. No one had heard from him. Then came Tomas ̶ the last to walk through the door. His lip was split, one eye nearly swollen shut, and there were bruises blooming across his arms and jaw. One look at him, and the room went still. Something had happened. Something bad