The corridor smelled of wet stone and rust, the kind of smell that made you wonder if the city itself was bleeding. Light flickered overhead, weak and hesitant, shadows jerking across the walls like nervous conspirators. I followed the slip of paper's coordinates, muttering under my breath, "Lead me to salvation… or straight into teeth. Either works."
Footsteps echoed mine first, deliberate. Then another, soft, too controlled. Too polite for an alley full of predators. Jonas appeared from the darkness, smooth smile in place, hands casually tucked in his coat pockets. "Right on time," he said, voice syrupy. "I thought you'd be early. Or late. Either way, interesting timing."
I scanned the walls, the floor, the scattered debris. Loose bricks, small puddles, a cracked pipe dripping rhythmically: drip… drip… drip… Every detail mattered. Something felt off. Always did with Jonas.
We walked side by side until he stopped in front of a nondescript door, one that blended into the corridor like a ghost. "Go on," he said. "He's waiting."
I hesitated, lips curling in sarcasm I didn't voice. Sure. The mysterious contact. Who else could it be but Elliot? Or a lie? I pushed the door open.
The room was small, dimly lit by a single swinging bulb. Shadows pooled in corners, creeping along the walls. And then, the click of boots on concrete too many, too synchronized. I froze. My eyes traced the light: a tile out of place, a shadow stretched wrong, an echo that shouldn't exist. Trap. Classic.
"Cute," I muttered. Jonas' smile was the last thing I saw before the ambush hit.
Hands lunged, knives flicked from the dark. I reacted, ducking low, feeling the scrape of concrete against my sleeve. A faint metallic clang… shuffle… the bulb above swung just right, casting the perfect shadow over a weak floor panel.
I stepped, the tile giving a slight groan perfect. The ambushers hesitated. Observation, not luck, guided me. I twisted through the room, hitting the floor panel, sending one lunging thug into a heap. The rest cursed, voices muffled against my retreat, following the wrong rhythm.
I didn't stop running until the corridor narrowed, the light flickering like a heartbeat slowing. Safe. For now. I pressed against the wall, inhaling the cold, metallic air, letting my senses stretch and catalog everything. Each echo, each shadow, every twitch of a boot. Jonas' smirk haunted the edge of my mind. Not the first trap, not the last.
I muttered to myself, sarcasm threaded with calculation: "Jonas thinks he's playing me. Cute. But observation has teeth. And I'm sharpening mine."
The city exhaled, indifferent, dripping water onto stone and metal. Footsteps faded into the maze behind me. And somewhere, a distant hum, almost like a heartbeat, reminded me that every corridor, every shadow, every trick was part of a game I was learning to play.
I straightened, letting the narrow smile curl, faint but dark. Every man for himself? Fine. But I've learned how to bend the rules… without anyone noticing.