Monty's head snapped up. "What?"
"Top window. Left side." Kínitos didn't move, didn't point, just kept his eyes fixed on the scene playing out above.
"There's a weapons deal happening right now."
Monty shifted slightly in his seat, casually glancing toward the house. He caught a glimpse—just enough to see the silhouette, the exchange, the unmistakable shape of a firearm being passed between two figures.
"Shit," Monty breathed. "That's what we're here for."
"Yeah." Kínitos pulled out his phone, angling it low under the table.
"We need to document this. Get proof for Jade."
"And then what? We can't just walk in there." Said Monti
"We're not walking in." Kínitos zoomed in with his camera, trying to get a clear shot through the window. "We watch. We record. We report. Just like Jade said."
The figures in the window moved again—more people joining them now. Three, maybe four. The room was getting crowded.
Monty's jaw tightened. "This is bigger than just Marco Delgado."
"Yeah." Kínitos lowered his phone, the images captured. "It is."
A man's voice came from behind them. "H… for hi. Excuse me, boys, can I join in on your game?"
Monty turned around slowly, his stomach dropping.
A group of men stood behind them—five, maybe six. And right in the middle, nursing a bruised jaw and a swollen eye, was the man they'd beaten in the alley. The one who'd been assaulting the woman.
He smiled, ugly and vindictive.
"Found you."
The café went quiet. The few other customers glanced over, then quickly looked away—the universal signal of people who knew better than to get involved. The man with the bruised jaw stepped forward, his smile widening.
"Didn't think we'd find you so fast, did you?"
Kínitos's hand dropped to his lap, fingers brushing the watch on his wrist. Monty did the same, casually reaching for his own.
"We don't want any trouble," Kínitos said evenly.
The man laughed—sharp, bitter. "You don't want trouble? You jumped me in an alley. Broke my fucking ribs." He jabbed a finger at them. "And now you're sitting here, in our district, watching our business like you own the place."
One of the other men—bigger, meaner-looking—cracked his knuckles.
"Boss wants to have a word with you two."
"Yeah?" Monty said, leaning back in his chair, trying to look calm.
"What if we're busy?"
The bruised man's smile vanished. "Then we make you un-busy."
Kínitos glanced at Monty. Their eyes met for half a second—a silent conversation.
Ready?
Yeah.
Kínitos pressed the button on his watch.
Purple light erupted from the device, spreading across his body in geometric patterns—lines racing up his arms, across his chest, forming a sleek suit that looked like something straight out of a superhero show. The material was matte black with glowing purple accents along the seams, a small emblem on the chest. Monty's suit activated a second later—identical design, but with red accents instead of purple. Monty looked down at himself and sighed.
"That's fucking corny." Said Monti
"Complain later!" Kínitos shoved the table forward, slamming it into the nearest attacker's legs. The man stumbled backward with a curse.
The bruised man lunged at Monty, fist cocked back.
Purple smoke erupted from Monty's body—thicker this time, more concentrated. He inhaled it like a breath, pulling it deep into his chest. The energy flooded his muscles, his veins lighting up beneath the suit. His body swelled, not grotesquely but visibly—shoulders broadening, arms thickening, raw power coiling tight in every fiber.
The punch came.Monty caught the man's fist mid-swing. And squeezed. The man screamed, bones grinding under the pressure. Monty twisted and threw him across the café. He crashed into a table, splintering wood and sending dishes flying.
Two more men rushed Kínitos from opposite sides. The voice whispered in his head again—calm, certain, unstoppable.
Purple energy flooded his body. Not just in his muscles, but through him—into his bones, his blood, his very presence in the space. He felt immovable, like gravity itself had doubled around him.The first man threw a punch.
Kínitos didn't block. He just stood there.
The fist connected with his jaw—and stopped. The man's knuckles crumpled against Kínitos's face like hitting a steel wall. The attacker screamed, stumbling backward, cradling his broken hand.
The second man came in low, trying to tackle him. Kínitos didn't budge. The impact should have taken him down, but instead the man bounced off him like he'd run into a concrete pillar. He hit the floor hard, gasping for air.
"Move!" Monty shouted, already at the café door.
Kínitos turned and ran, the purple energy fading from his skin. They burst through the door into the street, the remaining gang members scrambling to follow.
Behind them, the café owner was already on the phone—probably calling the Saint Patro, or the cops, or both. They sprinted down the narrow street, weaving between pedestrians. Monty's watch buzzed.
He glanced down mid-run.
Jade: Everything okay? Both suits activated. What's your status?
Monty hit voice-to-text while running.
"Everything's all good. Just testing things out."
Jade: Testing? In the middle of a recon mission?
"Yeah, yeah. All under control."
There was a pause. Then:
Jade: Don't play around, Monty. Stay focused. Report in one hour.
Monty pocketed the phone, grinning despite the situation. "He bought it."
"Did he though?" Kínitos glanced back over his shoulder. "They're still on us!"
Three gang members were closing the distance, two more rounding a corner ahead to cut them off.
"This way!" Kínitos veered left into an alley, Monty right behind him.
They had to lose them—and fast.