Detective Declan Blackwood was tired. His shift had dragged on longer than usual, and now he found himself patrolling the dark, rain-slick streets of the city long after most sensible people had gone home. The night was quiet, almost unnervingly so, with only the occasional distant rumble of thunder breaking the silence.

He tugged the collar of his coat higher against the chill, his eyes scanning the empty streets. This part of the city had always been rough around the edges, but something about tonight felt different—more oppressive, as if the very air was waiting for something to happen.

As he turned a corner, the wind picked up, carrying with it the sharp scent of ozone. Declan paused, glancing up at the sky just as the first streak of lightning split the clouds. But this wasn’t ordinary lightning. The bolt that struck was a sickly, ethereal blue, and it hit with a force that shook the ground beneath him.

Declan cursed under his breath, instinctively ducking as another bolt struck nearby, followed by another, each one closer than the last. The storm had come out of nowhere, and it was unlike anything he’d ever seen. The air was thick with static, crackling with an unnatural energy that made his skin prickle.

He needed to find shelter fast. The streets were deserted, and the buildings around him offered little in the way of protection. Panic gnawed at the edges of his mind as the storm intensified, the lightning strikes becoming more frequent, more violent.

Declan began to run, his boots splashing through puddles as he searched desperately for somewhere to take cover. The wind howled, whipping debris through the air, and the sound of distant explosions echoed through the city. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the sky lit up with flames, the storm’s wrath tearing the city apart.

His breath came in ragged gasps as he stumbled forward, his eyes darting from building to building. Finally, he spotted an old bar at the end of the street, its sign hanging askew, the windows boarded up. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do.

He reached the bar just as another bolt of lightning struck nearby, the shockwave knocking him off balance. Declan threw himself against the door, but it was locked, the wood reinforced with metal that wouldn’t budge.

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“Dammit!” he hissed, his eyes searching for another way in.

Then he saw it an old cellar door, a steel trapdoor set into the pavement beside the bar. It was rusted and worn, but it might just be his only chance. He dropped to his knees, fingers scrabbling at the edges of the door, trying to find purchase. The metal was cold and slick with rain, and for a moment, he thought it wouldn’t move.

But then, with a grunt of effort, he managed to pry it open just a crack. The hinges groaned in protest, the door barely budging. Declan cursed again, sweat mixing with the rain on his brow as he tried to force the door open wider.

“Need some help?”

The voice came out of nowhere, startling Declan so much that he nearly lost his grip on the door. He turned to see a man standing behind him, his face partially obscured by the shadows and the rain. The man didn’t wait for an answer. He simply bent down and added his strength to the task, the two of them working together to pull the door open.

Slowly, painfully, the trapdoor gave way, the gap widening just enough for a person to squeeze through. Declan didn’t hesitate. He swung one leg over the edge, ready to drop down into the relative safety of the cellar. But as he did, another bolt of lightning struck, this one so close that the air around them seemed to explode.

The force of the blast knocked the stranger off balance, sending him sprawling backward. Declan was halfway into the cellar when he saw the man pinned under a fallen beam, the heavy wood trapping him against the ground.

“Help me!” the man cried, his voice laced with fear and desperation.

Declan hesitated, his hand gripping the edge of the trapdoor. The man struggled beneath the beam, his eyes wide with panic, but it was clear he wouldn’t be able to free himself without help.

The storm raged on around them, the lightning strikes growing closer, the air charged with a dangerous, almost malevolent energy. Declan could feel the heat from the nearby fires, the acrid smoke stinging his eyes.

He knew what he had to do. His survival instincts kicked in, cold and unfeeling. This was a dangerous city, a place where only the strong survived. He couldn’t afford to be soft, couldn’t afford to risk his own life for a stranger.

“Sorry,” Declan said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. “But you do what it takes to survive.”

The man’s eyes widened in horror as he realized what was happening. He opened his mouth to protest, to beg, but Declan was already pulling the trapdoor closed, shutting out the man’s pleas as the heavy metal door clanged shut.

For a moment, all Declan could hear was his own breathing, the roar of the storm muffled by the thick steel. He leaned back against the cellar wall, trying to ignore the guilt gnawing at his insides.

But the world outside was still burning, and the storm showed no signs of stopping. Declan knew he couldn’t afford to dwell on what he’d done, not if he wanted to survive the night.

He would do whatever it took to stay alive, no matter the cost.