Slowly, with every ounce of willpower, I hauled myself onto the beam, managing to hook one leg over, then the other. My body shook with the effort, but inch by inch, I pulled myself up until I was straddling the metal. I flattened myself against it, pressing my chest to the cold steel, my nerves buzzing, every muscle coiled tight, waiting for the next shift, the next tremor that might send me plunging down.

It was a small miracle that no one looked up or heard me. I could hardly believe it myself. But when I glanced over the edge, they were still deep in conversation, oblivious to my near fall. For once, I was grateful for the steady hum of their engines masking my struggle.

The shadows clung to me, the beam barely wide enough to hide my frame. The dizziness lingered, my vision still hazy around the edges, but at least I wasn’t dangling over empty space anymore. I shifted slightly, forcing myself to stay steady, taking slow, shallow breaths as I strained to catch the tail end of their conversation.

I couldn’t afford to lose focus. Not here, not now. The figure below was dangerous—dangerous in a way that defied sense, like a shadow that could cut you when you weren’t looking. Whatever was messing with Frank, whatever power he had at his disposal, it had almost taken me out without so much as a glance. That kind of power didn’t just worry me—it terrified me.

My gaze narrowed, forcing my attention back to the scene below as their voices started to filter in again. The silhouette spoke, his tone as smooth as glass, too polished, like something rehearsed for effect. Catigan, on the other hand, sounded rattled—his words clipped, the frustration leaking through despite his efforts to keep it in check.

I kept perfectly still, every muscle taut, my senses stretched to their limits. Whatever was coming, I had to be ready. Because this figure—whoever, whatever they were—wasn’t just another player in the game. And if I had any hope of walking away from this, I needed to know exactly what game they were playing.

“I told you I’d get them for you, and I will. We know who has the key, and we’re closing in on the box. Just give me a few days,” Catigan said, his voice tight, desperate.

A low growl rumbled out in response, almost too deep to be human. “We have places for people like you. Places for those who fail me.”

I strained to hear more, but their voices dipped into whispers, lost beneath the hum of the limo’s engine and the creaks of the old warehouse. Then, abruptly, the conversation ended. Catigan turned away, heading back to his car, shoulders hunched like he’d aged a decade in those few minutes. The silhouette lingered for a heartbeat longer, the door of his limo opening from within.

And then—he turned, suddenly, sharply, his head tilting up towards me. Not at me, no. Into me. His eyes found the darkness where I hid, piercing through the shadows like they weren’t even there. He smiled—a slow, knowing curl of his lips—and then, just as abruptly, turned and slipped into the limo without a word.

The door closed with a muffled thud, the engine humming louder as the car glided away, leaving only the echoes of its presence and the feeling of something dark, something wrong, still lingering in the air. I stayed frozen, the dizziness fading but leaving me hollow, shaken, trying to steady the pounding in my chest.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

A few minutes later, the warehouse was empty. Silence settled over everything, thick and oppressive. Slowly, the world began to creep back to normal, the shadows feeling less like they were about to swallow me whole.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, the tension slowly uncoiling from my muscles. But that smile—that smile stayed with me, carved into my mind like a warning, a reminder that I’d been seen. And whatever game they were playing, I was already a part of it, whether I wanted to be or not.

----------------------------------------

“What the hell was all that?” I muttered, barely above a whisper as I stepped outside the warehouse. A lone streetlamp flickered in the distance, casting a weak glow that only seemed to deepen the shadows around me.

I… don’t know, Frank’s voice echoed in my mind, distant, hesitant. I need to think this over. Something about it felt… familiar. From my old life. I need a moment, Jack.

I nodded, more to myself than anything else. I understood. I felt it too—an unease that went beyond words, something primal. Frank’s energy shifted, withdrawing somewhere deep, like he needed to sift through memories too tangled to unravel just yet. I let him be, let him have that silence. He deserved it.

I didn’t head straight for the car—it was parked a half-mile away, tucked behind an old building where curious eyes wouldn’t easily spot it. Instead, I drifted, winding through a labyrinth of alleys and empty streets. The shadows here leaned heavy against brick walls, and the city air hung thick, a mix of stale grit and old exhaust that filled my lungs.

I walked, each footstep a dull echo against the cracked pavement, letting my thoughts spool out, trying to pick through the mess unraveling in my mind. Too much was happening, too many loose threads all unraveling at once. They had to connect, somehow—each piece, each lie, it had to weave together, it had to form some kind of picture. I just needed to find the right perspective, the right angle to make sense of it.

The conversation replayed in my head, every word twisting the knot tighter. Catigan had the box. He’d had it all along, and he’d been lying to Silhouette. The thought gnawed at me. Why lie? And worse, why take orders now? This was Catigan we were talking about—the same man who’d laughed staring down the barrel of a gun, who slit throats on a whim, just to see if he could catch the blood before it hit the ground. Catigan didn’t take orders. Not from anyone.

So who the hell had enough sway to put a leash on him?

The thought alone made my skin crawl. The idea that there was someone out there capable of turning Catigan into an errand boy was chilling. It left a dark weight deep in my gut, a sense of impending doom that I couldn’t shake off. Whoever this silhouette was, whoever they represented, they were dangerous—more dangerous than anything I’d bargained for.

The questions came in a relentless stream, bubbling up from some dark corner of my mind, and none of the answers I tried to piece together made me feel any better. Catigan scared? Catigan leashed? Someone had that kind of pull, that kind of power?

I clenched my jaw, forcing each breath to come slow and steady, even as the cold settled deeper in my bones, refusing to let go.

One thing was clear now: I’d only gotten half the truth—just fractured shards of a puzzle made of glass and bone, sharp enough to slice but impossible to piece together without bleeding for it. If I didn’t find the rest of the pieces soon, I had the sinking feeling that a lot of people were going to die.