Twenty Minutes Later
Vex's car pulled up to the curb in front of a dingy bar—Lucky's Lounge, the neon sign flickering weakly in the midday sun. The street was quieter here, but not empty. A few people loitered near the entrance, eyes tracking the car with casual suspicion. Kínitos and Monty climbed out. The air smelled like stale beer and cigarette smoke even from outside.
Vex leaned across the passenger seat, holding out a small silver key. "Here. The door you're looking for is a few blocks down. You can find the exact location in the app on your watch."
Kínitos took the key, pocketing it.
Vex's gaze flicked to Monty, then back to Kínitos. "And remember—observe. Don't be heroes."
"I'll try," Kínitos said.
She didn't look convinced, but she nodded anyway. "Good luck."
The car pulled away, tires crunching over loose gravel, leaving them standing alone in front of the bus stop across from the bar.
Monty watched the car disappear around the corner, then glanced at Kínitos. "You ever been to District 18 before?"
"Never."
"Yeah. Me neither." Monty's jaw tightened. He pulled up the app on his watch, the screen glowing faint blue. A map appeared, a red dot marking their destination a few blocks southeast. "Looks like we're walking."
Kínitos checked his own watch, syncing the location. The dot pulsed steadily.
"Let's move."
They started down the street, keeping their heads low and their pace casual. The buildings here were older, worn—cracked concrete, rusted fire escapes, graffiti layered thick on every surface. A few people watched them pass, but no one said anything.
Monty's hands were in his pockets, but Kínitos could see the tension in his shoulders.
"You good?" Kínitos asked quietly.
"Yeah. Just… this place." Monty's eyes scanned the rooftops, the alleys. "Feels wrong."
Kínitos didn't disagree.
They turned a corner, following the map's directions. The buildings grew taller here, blocking out more of the sunlight. The street narrowed. Fewer people. More shadows.
And then— A scream.
High-pitched, desperate, cut short.
Both of them froze.
"That came from—" Monty pointed ahead, toward an alley between two buildings.
Another sound. A crash. Breaking glass.
Kínitos's hand went to the watch on his wrist.
"Jade said observe."
"I know what he said." They looked at each other. And then they ran.
Running over, they found a woman on the ground, her face bruised and bleeding. A man stood over her, pulling up his pants, his expression twisted with cruel satisfaction.
"Stupid bitch," he spat, kicking at her side.
"Should've known better than to—"
He didn't finish.
Purple smoke erupted from both Kínitos and Monty's bodies, wisping into the air before being pulled back into their skin like reversed exhales. The energy sank deep, flooding their muscles, sharpening their senses.The man's head snapped toward them.
"Who the hell—"
Kínitos hit him first—a straight punch to the jaw that sent the man stumbling backward into the alley wall. Monty followed immediately, driving his shoulder into the man's gut, slamming him against the brick.
The man tried to swing back, but his movements were sluggish, uncoordinated. Kínitos grabbed his wrist mid-swing and twisted hard. Something cracked. The man screamed.
"Get the fuck off—"
Monty's fist connected with his ribs. Once. Twice. The man crumpled, gasping for air, collapsing onto the filthy alley ground.
Kínitos stood over him, breathing hard, the purple energy still buzzing under his skin. His hands were trembling—not from fear, but from the raw power coursing through him.
Monty stepped back, chest heaving.
"Is he—?"
"Alive," Kínitos said, checking the man's pulse. Still beating. "Out cold, though."
The woman on the ground let out a choked sob. Kínitos turned toward her, the energy fading from his body as quickly as it had come. "Hey—hey, you okay?"
She nodded weakly, wiping blood from her lip with the back of her hand. "Yeah… yeah, I'm okay."
Kínitos crouched down beside her. "Who was that guy? Why was he—"
"He's part of the local mafia," she said, voice shaking. "The Saint Patro. They run this whole district. Got everyone here scared shitless."
Monty exchanged a glance with Kínitos. "The Saint Patro?"
She nodded. "If you're not from around here, you should leave. They don't like outsiders."
Kínitos pulled out his phone. "We need to call the police. Get you help and—"
"No!" Monty's hand shot out, grabbing Kínitos's wrist. "Don't."
Kínitos frowned. "What? Why not?"
"Just—hold on." Monty pulled him aside, a few steps away from the woman. His voice dropped low. "Think about this for a second."
"Think about what? She just got—"
"I know what happened," Monty hissed. "But we saw someone get assaulted, and she's a working woman. You call the cops, they're gonna ask what we were doing back here. Then he's gonna wake up—" He jerked his thumb toward the unconscious man. "—and call his people. More problems for her. More problems for us."
Kínitos stared at him. "So we just… leave her?"
"I'm not saying that." Monty's jaw tightened. "I'm saying think it through. We're on a mission. We're not supposed to be getting into shit like this. And if the Saint Patro finds out we jumped one of their guys…" He trailed off, shaking his head.
Kínitos looked back at the woman, still sitting on the ground, clutching her ribs. Then at the unconscious man. Then at Monty.
"So what do we do?"