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The city was quiet, the late hour wrapping the streets in a stubborn calm. I kept my head down as I made my way back to the car. My feet moved through the empty sidewalks, the occasional flicker of neon signs reflecting off the wet asphalt. Everything about the night felt heavy—the air, the shadows, the grim unease that something was very, very wrong.

That feeling hit me hard, an instinctual kink in my gut that had saved me more times than I cared to count. I paused, glanced to the side, and caught a reflection in the cracked glass of an old pawn shop window. Just a glimpse—a shade moving where no one should have been.

Someone was following me.

I took a breath, forced myself to walk slower, even as my heartbeat sped up. I ducked into an alley, turning sharply at the corner, hoping to lose them. But when I listened, I could still hear it: the quiet rhythm of footsteps behind me, almost masked by the muffled hum of the city. I cursed under my breath, the realization dawning. Cats’ men. Silhouette must have tipped them off. Damn it. How could I have been so stupid? I should've gotten far away from this place the moment I saw that smile.

I picked up my pace, my eyes scanning for anything—an exit, a shadow deep enough to vanish into. My car was just ahead, parked at the edge of an abandoned lot. I spotted it crouched below a broken streetlight, and ducked my head, my fingers already fishing for the keys in my pocket.

That’s when the explosion hit.

It was a roar, the sound of metal tearing and fire erupting, a burst of heat that seared my face. The shockwave knocked me off my feet, sending me sprawling to the ground. My ears rang, the world a blur of fire and smoke and the acrid stench of burning Nightstone. My car—my damn car—was nothing more than twisted, flaming wreckage.

Instinct kicked in, and I rolled to the side, pushing myself up against a crumbling wall, eyes darting around wildly. Figures emerged from the smoke, shadowy shapes moving through the haze. Guns drawn, tactical movements. I cursed again, my mind racing.

My car… Cali is going to kill me!

I pushed off from the wall, darting to the nearest alley, my body aching from the impact. Bullets whipped past me, cracking into brick and metal, each one close enough to hear the air split. I ducked behind a dumpster, catching my breath for a split second before peeking out.

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There were at least three of them, maybe more—moving like they knew exactly where I’d be. I caught a glimpse of one, his face half-covered by a scarf, eyes cold and professional. Cats’ men, alright. The thought made my blood boil. I clenched my jaw, focused.

Frank, could use a hand here, I thought, reaching out mentally. But nothing came back—just emptiness where his snark should’ve been.

A shadow rounded the corner, and instinct took over. The man lunged for me, and I ducked low, bringing my gun up. He moved fast, too fast, and we collided, grappling for control. His hand twisted toward my gun, but I managed to wrench my arm free. It was a brutal dance of fists, elbows, and the metallic clash of firearms, the alley echoing with grunts and the scuffle of boots. My gun came up between us, and I pulled the trigger, feeling the recoil kick through my arm as he slumped, falling backward with a dull thud. It was heavy in my hands, and I didn’t have time to think. More footsteps, shouts echoing through the alley. I fired blindly around the corner, not aiming, just trying to buy myself a moment.

I heard a shout, a curse, and then more gunfire erupted, the flashes lighting up the darkness. I ducked down, feeling concrete chips sting my face as bullets tore into the walls above me. I couldn’t stay here. I needed to move.

I spotted an old fire escape, the metal ladder rusted but still intact, bolted to the side of the building across the alley. My legs burned as I pushed myself up, sprinting for it. Bullets followed, one grazing my shoulder, the pain sharp and searing.

The fresh pain and the trickle of blood worried me less than Frank’s silence. No quips, no biting commentary, nothing. Wherever he’d retreated to in that demon mind of his, he wasn’t coming out to help me this time. I was on my own, and that was a hell of a lot more unsettling than the wound itself.

I bit back a yell, my hand grabbing the bottom rung of the ladder. I pulled myself up, each movement a battle against the pain that spread from my shoulder.

Halfway up, I heard the sharp bark of a gun below. There was no time to react. The impact was like a sledgehammer hitting my side, a white-hot pain exploding through my ribs. The breath rushed out of me, my vision narrowing to pinpricks as I clung desperately to the ladder.

I gasped, choking on the pain, my hand slipping for a moment before I managed to regain my grip. My legs felt like lead, every inch a fight as I climbed, the sound of shouting men below growing louder. I could feel the blood soaking through my shirt, hot and wet, each breath an agony that clawed at my insides.

I hauled myself onto the platform, collapsing against the rusted metal, the world spinning. I needed a plan, but the pain was all-consuming, my thoughts fractured and fleeting. I forced myself to look down, seeing the men below, their shadows growing as they neared the base of the fire escape.

They were coming for me. I could hear their voices, cold and relentless, echoing through the night. I had to keep moving. I had to get away.