The city was a living wound beneath the heavy night sky, every streetlight flickering like the last breath of something dying. Veriton didn't sleep; it rotted quietly in the darkness, letting its monsters crawl free while the desperate buried themselves deeper in whatever numbness they could afford.
Evan Cross shoved his hands into the pockets of his worn-out jacket as he walked beside Maya Vance, their footsteps slapping against the cracked sidewalk. Every building they passed seemed to lean over them, windows broken, doors swinging like loose teeth. The air smelled of gasoline, rust, and hopelessness. It clung to their clothes, seeped into their skin.
Ahead, an old pawn shop stood like a drunk on its last legs, its neon sign sputtering in exhausted defeat: "Rico's."
"Here?" Evan asked, eyeing the sagging awning, the blacked-out windows.
Maya nodded, her braid swaying across her back. "If there's anything worth knowing about the briefcase, Rico's the guy who's heard it. For a price."
Evan's stomach twisted. He knew the kind of prices people like Rico asked for — not always cash. Sometimes it was loyalty. Sometimes it was blood.
He touched the envelope tucked deep inside his jacket like a talisman. Levi had died for this lead. Evan wasn't going to let fear gut him now.
Maya pushed open the door without hesitating. A small bell above it gave a sad little jingle, announcing them to whatever waited inside.
The pawnshop was a museum of lost battles: guitars with missing strings, TVs with cracked screens, jewelry that no longer shone. The stink of old metal and stale cigars filled the narrow aisles. Behind a wire-mesh counter, a man in his late forties slouched on a stool, picking grime from under his nails. His greasy black hair was thinning on top, and his yellowed shirt stretched over a round belly. A jagged tattoo of a snake curled up his forearm.
Rico looked up, his eyes two lazy coins of suspicion. "You're late."
"We weren't invited," Maya shot back, voice sharp.
Rico smirked, flashing teeth that looked like they'd been in more fights than he had. He jerked his chin at Evan. "This the stiff?"
Evan bristled but kept his voice steady. "We need information."
"Yeah, so does everyone. What makes you think I feel like talking tonight?" Rico drawled, flicking a cigarette butt into an overflowing ashtray.
Maya pulled something from her jacket: a silver locket. She placed it on the counter with a soft clink. Rico's eyes sharpened.
"My mother's," Maya said, her face carefully blank. "Worth enough for a conversation."
Rico picked up the locket, turning it over in his stubby fingers. He sniffed, then tucked it into his pocket like it already belonged to him.
"Briefcase. Black. Silver 'V'," Evan said, cutting straight to it. "You know anything?"
Rico leaned back, the stool creaking ominously. For a long moment, he said nothing. Only the hum of a faulty light bulb buzzed in the thick air.
Then: "Maybe."
Evan clenched his fists. "Maybe's not good enough."
"Maybe's all you're gonna get unless you wanna sweeten the deal, boy," Rico said, his smile wide and mean.
Maya stepped forward, anger flashing in her green eyes. "We gave you the locket."
"That buys you a 'maybe'," Rico said lazily. "The city's changing, kids. Things stirring under the floorboards even the rats don't know about. That briefcase? It's trouble bigger than you're ready for."
Evan stared him down. "Tell us."
Rico scratched his chin, considering. Finally, he shrugged.
"Word is, some people are sniffing around it. Real serious types. Not your average street trash. Suits, dark cars, no names. If the 'V' briefcase shows up, it ain't gonna be on Craigslist. It's gonna be under lock and gun."
"Where?" Maya demanded.
Rico leaned closer, his breath a swamp of beer and onions. "Warehouse District. Pier 14. They move product through there. Drugs, guns... and sometimes things they don't put on manifests."
Pier 14. Evan pictured the rusted docks at the city's edge, a place where the water was black and the smell of dead fish clung to your soul.
"When?" Evan asked.
"Tomorrow night," Rico said, licking his lips. "But you didn't hear it from me."
Maya nodded stiffly. She tugged Evan's sleeve, and they turned to leave.
"Hey, kid," Rico called after Evan, voice low and greasy.
Evan paused, glancing back.
"You go digging for things meant to stay buried..." Rico said, tapping the ashtray with a yellowed finger, "don't cry when the dirt swallows you."
---
Outside, the cold hit harder, the night air biting at their skin like tiny knives. Evan and Maya walked fast, not speaking until Rico's broken neon was just another bleeding light behind them.
"You think he's telling the truth?" Evan asked finally.
Maya kicked a rock into the gutter. "Truth doesn't live here anymore. We go anyway."
There wasn't anything else to say.
---
Later that night, Evan sat alone on the rooftop of the crumbling apartment building he called home. The mattress inside was too stained to lie on, the heater too broken to matter. Up here, under the bruised sky, at least he could breathe.
He stared out at the jagged line of Veriton's skyline — a city of skeletons. Somewhere out there, the briefcase waited. Somewhere out there, someone had killed Levi for it.
He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the old scar on his jaw twinge. Pain was memory. Memory was fuel.
A door creaked behind him. He turned to see Maya climbing up, a heavy duffel bag slung over her shoulder.
"Figured you'd be here," she said, dropping the bag with a thud.
"What's that?" Evan asked.
She grinned — a real grin, all teeth and challenge. "Insurance."
Unzipping the bag, she revealed two crowbars, a couple of flashlights, and an old revolver that looked like it had survived three wars.
Evan raised an eyebrow. "We planning a war?"
"If we're lucky," Maya said, sitting down beside him.
They sat in silence for a while, the kind that didn't need filling. Above them, the stars blinked faintly, like they were struggling to stay alive.
Maya hugged her knees to her chest, staring out over the rooftops.
"You ever think about leaving?" she asked suddenly.
"Every damn day," Evan said without hesitation.
"Where would you go?"
Evan shrugged. "Anywhere that isn't here. Somewhere with clean air. Somewhere I don't have to look over my shoulder every second."
Maya nodded slowly. "Me too."
The wind picked up, whistling between the buildings like the city's last breath.
"You think we'll survive tomorrow night?" Evan asked, only half-joking.
Maya's smile was a grim little curve. "We're not dead yet."
It wasn't hope. It wasn't even confidence. It was something meaner and stronger — stubbornness.
Evan found himself smiling back.
"Yeah," he said. "Not yet."
---
Far below them, in the alleys and forgotten corners, other forces stirred. Black cars glided down streets like sharks in shallow water. Phones rang in abandoned buildings. Names were whispered that hadn't been spoken in years.
The city was waking up.
And Evan Cross had just made himself a target.
---