The night pressed in, thick and black, a shroud that choked the air from my lungs. I pulled Elias along, his small hand quivering in mine, his breaths shallow and uneven.
The cold sliced through our rags, the wind howling like a beast stalking its kill. Every shadow stretched too far, every rustle too near.
My eyes darted, scanning corners, expecting hands to lunge from the dark—masked hands, cruel and unyielding.
The slums were alive tonight—watching, waiting, eager to swallow us whole.
We needed shelter. The moldy bread scrap I'd found wouldn't save us, not from this cold, not from the exhaustion dragging Elias down.
His steps faltered, slower with each yard, his thin frame trembling under that torn shirt. "Rowan," he whispered, voice quaking, "I'm so tired."
"I know," I said, keeping my tone steady. I couldn't let him see the fear clawing at me—the fear that I'd fail him, like I failed her. But words wouldn't shield him.
I scanned the dark again, eyes darting for anything—a crate, a corner, a scrap of cover. Nothing. Just more filth, more shadows. The slums didn't spare. They devoured.
A low growl rumbled from the blackness, rooting me to the spot. My pulse surged, the sound too close, too real.
Yellow eyes glowed between shacks, low and unblinking, locked on us. A beast—mangy, hulking, its ribs jutting like broken blades under matted fur.
My stomach twisted, memories flashing fast.
Father's drunken curses. Blood pooling in the dirt. The beast that tore him apart three years ago, his Spider tattoo useless against its claws.
He'd been scum—a lowlife alcoholic, stumbling home with fists and slurred threats, his gang pride a lie. Beasts didn't care about his temper. They just killed.
"Rowan?" Elias's voice trembled, his wide eyes tracing mine to the shadows. He pressed closer, trusting me to save him.
Always trusting. I couldn't let him down—not him, not after everything.
"Stay quiet," I whispered, grip tightening on his hand until my knuckles whitened. My other hand scrabbled in the mud, closing around a jagged rock. Not much, but it'd have to do.
The beast edged forward, claws scraping stone, its growl vibrating through my chest. My throat locked, legs itching to run, but Elias was too slow. We'd never outrun it.
My breath came fast, too fast—every sound, every movement sharpened, the world narrowing to those yellow eyes. I had to protect him. I couldn't freeze again.
I raised the rock, arm shaking, and flung it hard. It struck the beast's flank, drawing a snarl. It lunged—fast, feral—but I'd already yanked Elias back, shoving him toward a pile of debris.
"Hide!" I hissed, diving after him. We scrambled behind splintered wood and rusted metal, breath held, as its claws gouged the ground where we'd been.
Its snout sniffed the air, hot and sour, yellow eyes probing the dark. My heart pounded, loud enough to betray us. Elias clung to me, silent, his small body quaking.
I wrapped an arm around him, shielding him, my body a barrier between him and the beast.
I wouldn't let it take him. I couldn't.
The beast crept closer, its breath stirring the debris. My grip on the rock tightened, ready to swing, when a shout cracked the silence—slurred, rough.
"Get lost, you mutt!" A scavenger staggered into view, bottle swinging, waving a stick. The beast snarled, then bolted, claws scraping as it vanished into the night.
I exhaled, shaky, the cold biting deeper now. Elias's grip stayed tight, his eyes fixed on the shadows. "Is it gone?" he whispered.
"For now," I said, voice low. I didn't trust this night. My hands still shook, the beast's growl echoing in my skull, but it wasn't just the beast.
It was the fear—the same fear that locked me in place three years ago, the fear that made me a coward.
We stumbled forward, my legs heavy, every step a fight against the cold. The wind picked up, carrying a faint snarl—another beast, or maybe the same one, circling back. My chest tightened, the shadows closing in.
I pulled Elias faster, my eyes darting for cover. A sagging shack loomed ahead, its door hanging off one hinge, the inside black as tar.
Not safe, but better than the open. I shoved us inside, the air thick with damp rot, the floor littered with broken glass.
I propped the door shut with a plank, the wood splintering under my hands, and crouched by the entrance, rock still in my grip.
Elias huddled behind me, his breaths shallow, his small body pressed against the wall.
I didn't speak—couldn't. Every sound outside made me flinch, my ears straining for claws, for growls, for anything that'd mean I'd failed him again.
Hours crawled by, the night endless. A woman's scream pierced the dark—sharp, desperate, cut short by a thud.
My blood froze, the sound yanking me back, dragging me under. Three years ago, in that leaking shack, it'd been her—Mother.
I was smaller then, weaker, a kid who thought the world might bend. With our scum of a father gone. Mom was all we had left—her hands rough from work, her eyes empty but still fighting for us.
Then the masked men came. They kicked in the door, hoods hiding their faces, voices cruel as broken glass scraping stone.
She stood between me and them, arms wide, begging them to leave us be, her voice cracking with a desperation I still hear in my nightmares.
They laughed—low, ugly, like her pleas fueled their game. I hid in the shadows, pressed against the wall, legs locked by fear's chain.
I watched as they dragged her across the floor, her nails clawing wood, leaving splintered trails, her cries muffled under their hands, turning to choked gasps.
They broke her—took her fight, her voice, her light—leaving her a heap, a rag doll tossed aside.
I crawled to her, shaking, hands too small to fix anything. She breathed, shallow and ragged, but her eyes were gone—staring through me, past me. She didn't see me. Didn't speak. Just lay there, shattered.
That night, holding her cold body, I swore I'd make them pay. Every last one.
I don't know how, but that promise burns in me still—a coal that won't die, a fire that keeps me moving when everything else wants to quit.
But the guilt burns hotter—I should've done something, anything. I let her die. I let them break her. I was a coward, and that shame gnaws at me, a wound that won't heal.
The scream faded, leaving silence and a hollow ache. Elias shifted, mumbling in his sleep, pulling me back.
I stayed crouched, rock in hand, eyes on the door. My body stayed tense, every creak of the shack sending my heart racing.
I couldn't sleep—not with the beast's growl lingering, not with that scream echoing in my skull. My free hand clenched, nails biting my palm, the rage simmering beneath the fear.
The masked men were out there, somewhere, their laughter a ghost in the dark. The scavenger's words haunted me—Stay sharp, kids. Don't trust the hooded man. I didn't know who he was, but it gnawed at me, a threat I couldn't name.
The night dragged on, each minute heavier than the last. My legs cramped, my cut finger throbbed, but I didn't move.
Elias needed me awake, watching. I wouldn't let the dark take him—not like it took her.
The wind howled outside, carrying faint growls, distant shouts, the clatter of trash. My eyes burned, but I forced them open, tracing every shadow, every flicker of movement. The slums didn't sleep, and neither could I.
Morning came slow, gray light seeping through the shack's cracks. The cold hadn't let up, frost glittering on the broken glass scattered across the floor.
Elias stirred, his small body stiff with cold, his lips cracked and blue. "Rowan?" he mumbled, blinking up at me, his voice faint.
"We're okay," I said, the lie bitter on my tongue. I helped him sit up, brushing frost from his shirt. My own hands shook, hunger gnawing at my gut, the ache sharper now. The bread scrap was gone, eaten hours ago, and the slums wouldn't give us more.
We needed food today, or Elias wouldn't make another night. I pushed the plank aside, peering out.
The alley was quiet, the beasts gone with the dark, but the danger never left. It just changed shape.
We stumbled out, the gray dawn heavy with mist, the air thick with the stench of rot. Elias clung to my hand, his steps slow, his breaths shallow.
I led us through the alleys, eyes darting for scraps, for anything we could use.
A pile of refuse caught my eye—rotting cloth, a broken bottle, something slimy I didn't touch.
I dug through it, fingers numb, hoping for a crust, a bone, anything. Nothing. Just more filth, more nothing.
My stomach twisted, the hunger a claw scraping my insides, but I pushed it down. Elias first. Always Elias.
We turned a corner, the alleys opening into a wider street—a plaza, packed with bodies. Voices buzzed, a crowd gathering, their faces hollow but curious.
At the center stood a man, tall and cloaked, his hood casting shadows over his face.
He raised his arms, his voice ringing out, smooth and warm, promising things I couldn't catch—food, warmth, a better world.
The crowd murmured, some nodding, others shifting, wary but listening.
My chest tightened, the scavenger's warning echoing—Don't trust the hooded man. I pulled Elias back, keeping to the edge, watching.
Something about that voice, that promise, felt wrong. But the crowd pressed closer, drawn in, and I couldn't shake the feeling we'd stumbled into something bigger than us.