Nathaniel Kane knew he should have taken the long way home.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting an orange glow over the cracked sidewalks and sagging buildings of his neighborhood. He walked with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, head down, and his thoughts a million miles away. The day had been a mess of classes he barely paid attention to, and an undercurrent of unease that he still couldn’t shake. Something was coming—he could feel it in his bones—but for now, all he wanted was to get home and forget about everything.

He had grown accustomed to the dull ache in his feet, the kind that came from too many days spent wandering the city streets. His sneakers, worn and scuffed, were barely holding together. He looked at the familiar surroundings, the way the shadows stretched across the pavement, and thought about how little had changed in his life. The same dingy storefronts, the same empty lots. It was a routine he knew too well, a cycle of monotony that offered no surprises.

As he turned the corner onto his street, he saw them.

The leader of the trio from earlier, the one with the greasy hair, stood at the end of the alley that led to Nathaniel’s street. Only this time, he wasn’t alone. The two other goons were there, along with three more boys who looked just as mean and twice as eager to cause trouble. Nathaniel stopped in his tracks, his heart sinking.

The sight of the group made him reconsider his choices. He could try to find another way, but he knew the alley was the shortest route home. Running would only make things worse; they’d catch him easily. Instead, he took a deep breath, steeling himself for the confrontation he had been dreading.

“Kane,” the leader called out, a cruel smile spreading across his face. “We didn’t finish our conversation earlier.”

Nathaniel’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t move. There was no point in running. The alley was narrow, and the chances of evading them were slim. He squared his shoulders and started walking toward them, each step measured and deliberate. He could feel the weight of their stares, the anticipation in the air. It was almost palpable.

“This doesn’t have to happen,” Nathaniel said, his voice calm despite the adrenaline pumping through his veins. “You can still walk away.”

The leader laughed, a harsh, grating sound that echoed off the alley walls. “Walk away? From you? You’re not in a position to be making threats, Kane.” He gestured to the others, who spread out, cutting off any chance of escape. “We’re going to teach you a lesson about sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Nathaniel clenched his fists, the weight of inevitability pressing down on him. He knew he was going to get hurt—badly—but he wasn’t going to make it easy for them. The fear was there, but he pushed it aside, focusing instead on the task at hand. It was a dance he knew too well, one he had rehearsed countless times on the streets.

“Come on, then,” he said, his voice steady. “Let’s get this over with.”

The first punch came fast, a blur of motion aimed at his gut. Nathaniel twisted, taking the hit on his side instead, and lashed out with a quick jab that caught the attacker on the chin. It was a solid hit, but it barely slowed the guy down. Another one came at him from the side, and Nathaniel barely managed to duck under the swinging fist.

The alley became a chaotic whirlwind of fists and feet. The boys moved with a predatory efficiency, their aggression a stark contrast to Nathaniel’s desperate defense. Each blow he landed seemed to only fuel their rage, and he was quickly overwhelmed. Pain exploded in his ribs as a foot connected, and he doubled over, gasping for breath. His vision blurred, the world narrowing to a tunnel of pain and fury.

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He fought back with everything he had, landing blows where he could, but it was like trying to fight the tide. For every hit he landed, he took three more. His shirt was soaked with sweat and blood, and he could feel the bruises forming, each one a testament to the beating he was enduring.

The assault continued, a relentless barrage that showed no sign of letting up. Nathaniel tried to protect his head, but every time he managed to block one punch, another one landed. He was losing strength, his movements growing slower, more labored. But through it all, Nathaniel refused to go down. He kept swinging, kept fighting, even as his strength began to fade.

“Enough!”

The voice cut through the chaos, cold and commanding. The beating stopped as suddenly as it had started, and Nathaniel managed to look up through bloodied eyes. He saw the boys backing away, their faces a mix of relief and fear.

Standing at the entrance of the alley, with a hand casually resting on the hilt of his gun, was Detective Declan Blackwood.

“Look at you lot,” Blackwood said, his voice dripping with disdain. “A bunch of cowards, ganging up on a single kid. Real brave.”

The leader straightened, trying to look defiant, but there was fear in his eyes. “This is none of your business, cop,” he spat, though the bravado was thin. The fear was palpable now, and it was clear that Blackwood’s presence had shifted the balance.

Blackwood’s lips curled into a mocking smile. “You think you’re tough, picking fights you know you can win? That makes you the biggest losers I’ve ever seen.” He took a step forward, and the boys flinched. “Now, how about you take your friends and get lost before I decide to make this my business?”

There was a tense moment where it seemed like the leader might argue, but then he looked at Blackwood’s cold eyes and decided better of it. With a muttered curse, he jerked his head at the others, and they quickly backed away, disappearing down the alley. The sound of their retreating footsteps was a welcome relief, but the damage had been done.

Blackwood watched them go, then turned his gaze to Nathaniel, who was struggling to stand. “Well, well,” he said, his tone more amused than concerned. “You’ve got guts, kid. I’ll give you that. But you’ve also got more bruises than brains.”

Nathaniel wiped the blood from his mouth, wincing at the pain that flared in his side. “Thanks,” he muttered, though the word tasted bitter. The gratitude was there, but it was overshadowed by his frustration and exhaustion.

“Don’t thank me,” Blackwood replied, stepping closer. “You should’ve known better than to pick a fight you couldn’t win.” He tilted his head, studying Nathaniel with an unreadable expression. “You keep this up, and you’ll end up in a ditch, or worse. Is that what you want?”

Nathaniel met his gaze, defiance burning in his eyes despite the pain. “I don’t care,” he said, his voice hoarse but steady. “I’m not going to stand by and do nothing.”

Blackwood’s expression softened, just for a moment. “I get it,” he said quietly. “But there’s a difference between fighting for something and throwing your life away. You’re no good to anyone dead.”

Nathaniel didn’t respond, too exhausted to argue. Blackwood sighed, reaching into his coat and pulling out a handkerchief, which he tossed to Nathaniel. “Clean yourself up, kid. And maybe think a little harder before you decide to play hero next time.”

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Nathaniel alone in the alley. The detective’s footsteps faded, replaced by the distant sounds of the city.

Nathaniel stared after him, the detective’s words echoing in his mind. He knew Blackwood was right—there was no point in getting himself killed over a fight he couldn’t win. But he also knew that he couldn’t just walk away, no matter the cost. The desire to protect others, to stand up against injustice, was a part of him that he couldn’t easily ignore.

As he wiped the blood from his face, a cold wind blew through the alley, carrying with it the scent of something strange, something that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Nathaniel paused, looking up at the darkening sky. For a moment, he thought he saw a flash of light, like distant lightning, though there were no clouds in the sky.

The sensation was unsettling, a chill that had nothing to do with the wind. It was as if something unseen was pressing in on him, a premonition of the storm that was coming. He shook his head, trying to dismiss the feeling, but it lingered, a reminder that change was imminent.

Something was coming. Something big.

And despite everything, Nathaniel couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever it was, he was meant to face it head-on. He turned and started walking home, his mind heavy with the weight of his impending confrontation with destiny.