The bar man's scream had barely faded before the wet slap of boots against pavement began. A shrill, haunting echo against the oppressive silence of Velrian. The fight—brutal and unnecessary—had turned into a blur of flashing fists, sharp insults, and the taste of copper on the air. In the end, all that remained was the rain, and the dead. A perfect metaphor for Velrian itself: a city of corruption, desperation, and an unspoken truth that nothing mattered. People died, and others kept moving.

And move they did.

Alya’s breath was ragged as she ran through the flooded streets, each step sloshing through the muddy water that coated the alleys. Her lungs burned. Her chest ached. Her legs screamed for relief, but there was no time. Not now. She pushed forward, determined to keep her body in motion, her feet pounding against the wet concrete.

Behind her, Nolan’s footsteps faltered for a moment.

He wasn’t built for the chase—not like Alya.

The bruise on his side, the cut on his arm—he could feel them in every step.

And then, there was Mou. The war-dog’s massive white frame loomed behind them like an unshakable shadow, silent but determined. He had been with them through everything—the hunger, the pain, the betrayals. He never faltered. He never gave up.

But even Mou seemed to be struggling against the rain and the weight of the world.

His ears were pinned back.

Eyes scanning the alleyways with an intensity that made the hair on the back of Alya’s neck stand up.

"Shit..." Alya muttered under her breath. She didn’t dare glance back. Her legs screamed at her to stop, but she couldn’t. She wouldn’t.

They’d almost made it—almost.

The sound of their pursuers grew distant, but they were still out there.

Still hunting.

The alley narrowed, and they stumbled into a larger open street—a market square. Neon lights buzzed above, their flickering glow casting sickly shadows across the ground. The market was quieter than usual, a few figures huddled in corners, but no one cared to look up. It was the perfect cover—no one would stop to ask questions. No one cared.

But they couldn't linger.

Not here.

Not tonight.

Alya was the first to break from the shadows, sprinting to the opposite side, her fingers already digging into her pack, ready for whatever might come next. She didn’t have time for hesitation, no time to let her guard down. Her golden brown eyes were wide, calculating, always looking for the next move, always thinking ahead. There was no safety here.

Nolan was still behind her, trying to keep pace despite the fatigue pulling him down.

His throat was dry, his heart pounding in his chest.

The fear clung to him like a second skin.

“No.” She snapped, her voice cutting through the thick air. "We don't stop."

They dashed into another alley, the rain pouring down harder now, their bodies soaking through in seconds. The world felt like it was collapsing around them. The pounding rain drowned out every other sound, every other sense. There was only the beating of their hearts and the sound of their feet as they splashed through the water.

Just ahead, there was a small door—barely noticeable.

Tucked between two rotting walls.

Their last escape route.

Alya reached the door first, pulling it open, and slipped inside. Nolan followed quickly, barely able to keep up. Mou was right behind them, his massive body wedging through the small gap, his fur soaking wet and clinging to his body like the sorrow that clung to their own lives.

They stumbled into the dark, damp interior of what could only be called a hideout.

It smelled of decay and despair.

The air thick with the stench of mildew.

They dropped to the floor, panting, trying to steady their breathing, trying to find some relief.

Nolan collapsed against the wall, his mind still racing, still counting, still calculating. But his body was giving up. The pain, the exhaustion, the ever-present weight of fear—it was all too much. The blood on his clothes was sticky, uncomfortable. His fingers trembled as they reached for his bag, pulling out the meager stack of credits they had managed to steal. His stomach growled, a sharp reminder that their escape had cost them everything.

Alya watched him for a moment, her eyes tired but sharp.

She didn’t say anything.

She just took a deep breath.

Then, Alya spoke, her voice quiet, but edged with something darker, something sharp. “If he touches my body again...” Nolan’s eyes flicked to her, meeting her gaze.

“Next time,” Alya continued, her tone cold as ice, “I’ll leave him with a slash on his neck or his hand.”

Nolan’s lips parted, but nothing came out.

His voice came out low, strained. "Not today, Alya..."

“We’re running on fumes.”

Alya's hand clenched at her side, and for a moment, she looked like she might speak again, but then her gaze drifted to the corner where Mou lay. The dog’s eyes were wide, his body tense, every muscle locked in alertness.

Alya felt a sudden chill in the air.

The kind that crawls up your spine.

And makes your skin break out in goosebumps.

A sound—sharp and metallic—rang out from the darkness. A faint, buzzing noise, like the static on a broken comm.

The three of them froze.

It wasn’t the rain.

It wasn’t the wind.

It was something else—something far more ominous.

The low hum of a communicator filled the air, cutting through the silence like a blade. Alya’s breath caught in her throat, her heart skipping a beat.

Nolan's eyes widened.

His hand reached for the blade at his side.

Instinct taking over.

Alya could barely breathe as the words came through the static—cold, crisp, and final.

"Deadsmoke."

The name echoed in their minds.

It shouldn’t make sense.

But it did.

Alya’s stomach twisted into knots as she locked eyes with Nolan. His lips parted, but no words came. Their breath was shallow. Their hearts were racing.

Deadsmoke wasn’t a name they could ignore.....