The rain had stopped completely, leaving the streets of Gravehaven City slick and shining. Neon lights reflected off the puddles, fractured like broken mirrors. Every shadow seemed alive, moving just out of the corner of my eye.
I walked alone through the empty alleyways, boots splashing softly against the wet asphalt. The garage attack was still fresh in my mind—the echoes of gunfire, the sharp crack of bullets, the way Liara had disappeared without a trace.
My hands were tight in my pockets, muscles tense, senses alert. I couldn't shake the feeling that someone—or something—was watching. The city didn't like witnesses.
I stopped beneath a flickering streetlight, pulling a crumpled piece of paper Liara had left behind from my coat. Just a few scribbles, almost too vague to be useful, but enough.
I traced the lines with my finger. Coordinates, a hint of a location, and a single string of numbers—formatted like a phone number.
That was it. Nothing more. No name, no instructions, no guarantee.
The wind whispered between the buildings, carrying the faint scent of oil, rain, and danger. My pulse thrummed in my ears.
I folded the paper carefully and slid it into my pocket. One small piece of the puzzle had just landed in my hands. One lead. One number.
I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the city pressing down on me. The rest—Marcus Ellory, the killings, the shadows—would have to wait until I made the call.
For now, all I had was the number.
And in Gravehaven City, that was enough to start the chase.