Velli

The skyscrapers’ lights on Wulf’s streets paint the night sky a dominant blue. Blue that overthrows the black sky’s reign. It forces me to compare Wulf’s sky with Mother Nature’s. Luxurious blue versus nature’s black. The rest of the buildings, smaller and still owned by Wulf, left their office lights on, demanding recognition for their greatness.

In the deepest part of his street, under the shadow of the Heirs’ castle on the hill, is Wulf’s house, the mecca for every man with business ambitions. No teleporter would dare take us, despite our bribe. Wulf doesn’t allow cars on his special road, either. So we walk to meet him. Before anyone can be a true multimillionaire entrepreneur or a world-class fighter, they have to talk to Wulf.

Even on these silent, barren, and pristine streets, Wulf’s power is palpable under the intimidating presence of his custom-made buildings. It feels like demigods peer down on us while we approach their God. It sounds impossible, but in the daytime, this street holds an equal sort of intimidation.

During the day, lines out the door wait at the five-star restaurants he owns, and people pay two hundred drops for a sample of the food they’ll eat in a couple of hours. The nine-hundred-meter skyscrapers outdo the moon tonight and dare to fight the sun for prominence during the day. Thousands don his luxurious tailor-made suits and dresses bearing his signature Wulf symbol. He’s never made a soul wear it or buy it. It’s expected. It’s essential.

The Wulf crest is a symbol almost akin to the Heirs. The Heirs’ crest on their schools, hospitals, and banks ensures the inhabitants are never robbed or harmed, while wearing one of the more expensive items from Wulf’s catalog means guaranteed protection by Wulf himself. Granted, most of us can’t afford any of those items. We do wear what we own from his brand, though.

I know what the man is. Dream knows what the man is. And yet I can’t not wear one of my most prized possessions—an old watch with two small cracks and that wolf-head logo, designed by Wulf.

All right, calm down, kid. You’re not passing the Wulf fashion test.

Dream, antimaterialist, anti–bad people, and a better person than I, wears her black sneakers with the Wulf logo on the side and his signature on the bottom. I considered not wearing it. I tried not to, but going onto Wulf’s streets without wearing some sort of designer Wulf gear feels impossible. So, wearing the clothes of the man we might kill, we walk to his house.

His house imitates one of the great temples of old. Well-sculpted statues of giant wolves rest to the left and right of grand ascending steps, wide enough for eight people to walk side by side. We’re only two.

I feel your heartbeat, Velli. You feel unprepared.

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Those massive steps lead to glass doors with lights on inside. It’s a challenge to thieves at night. Come in. We are thieves in a way, but no way are we answering the challenge. The back door will do.

The lights are strong enough. They cover the parking lot in front of his house filled with the best cars that I doubt he uses. We resist the urge to look at the exotic pieces of engineering and head behind his house.

It’s dark here, perfect for our ambitions. Out back, large fog lights accentuate the structure’s details even better in darkness. It creates massive shadows Dream and I hide in as I swing the grappling hook in my hand. The massive shadows are a bit shaky. I eye them. Shadows can be more than shadows a surprising amount of the time in Division’s Hand.

“Tossing a grappling hook through a window is kind of lame for a Velli plan A, isn’t it?” Dream asks midswing.

I let the thing fly and bang against the window. I miss the edge it’s supposed to latch on to.

It’s not really even a plan A, I think, and it brings a smile to my lips, but I only tell her. “No need to overcomplicate things if it’s that simple. Besides, you know plan B, don’t you?”

Now, why are you lying? Why not tell her the real plan?

Why am I lying now?

Look at you. It’s become a habit.

I’ll have to fix that once all this is done, but the goal is worth it. After all, Dream is still around, and this will make her happy.

I toss the hook, and it bounces off the windowsill, falling back down and sputtering off the wall twice, both times with a ting and a clang. The noise makes me tense. I wait for any movement from inside the building. Nothing. If they heard it, they didn’t stir.

“Velli, do you hear that?” Dream whispers, her lips near my ear, and she places her hand by her gun’s holster.

“No, what is it?”

“Listen…”

“No one’s moving inside,” I say, in denial of the fear forming in my lower abdomen.

“It’s not inside. It’s here.”

I swing the grappling hook faster and with more intensity.

Can’t miss again, champ.

“Velli, do you hear it?” Dream asks, and I have to ignore her because I hear it, and it’s freaking me out.

My hands are too shaky. The hook flies from my grip and bangs against one of the house’s pillars, making another clang. It screams through the quiet of the night like a dying bobcat.

“The shadows are whistling,” Dream whispers.

And they hear her. They must hear her because they respond with louder whistles.

Fate… Fate… Get off my chest.

I’m not touching you.

Fate.

I’m not touching you.

It’s harder to breathe. I spin the grappling hook, preparing for our much-needed escape up the window and panting like a dying old dog in the process. I am scared, but I’m not that scared. My muscles shouldn’t be this tired. Everything shouldn’t be this hard.

They whistle again, long, high-pitched signals like they’re summoning something.

I toss the grappling hook. It doesn’t even make the windowsill. It plops in the dirt without even a ploof. This isn’t good. The grappling hook isn’t the full plan, but making it up there is.

Maybe Dream can help with… oh, that’s right. You didn’t let her know the plan.

“Dream.” I push the hook to her to toss it up.

Like a bum hands over a crusty burger to his bumstress, but she’s already dead from starvation.

Dream’s on her knees, trying to catch her breath. What’s happening to us?

The shaky shadows whistle again and tremble side to side. They suck the air right from our lungs. My legs give up. I’m on my side, struggling to breathe. I reach out to Dream for some sort of comfort. Whose comfort? I don’t know. Maybe for me, maybe for her. I have to reach her.