Cradle

Our small group moved through the slum's underbelly, weaving through the maze of crumbling alleys and shadowed streets, retracing a path carved in blood and fire. We were heading back to where it all began—the cradle of our bond, the ashes of our past. My intel was clear: he would be there, lying low, doing his best to stay unseen. If we were lucky, he hadn't yet caught wind of our approach.

The journey was a gamble. Moving across the entire slum, especially through Angel-controlled territory, was a risk wrapped in risk. But we had made it this far, slipping through the cracks of their domain like ghosts, unseen and unheard. Somehow.

As we neared the ruins of the Risen's old stronghold, my gaze flickered over the jagged remains of its walls, each fracture and scorch mark whispering memories I had long buried. My fingers curled instinctively, as if they could still feel the heat of the fires that had torn this place apart. The scent of charred wood and blood lingered in my mind, so vivid I almost believed it was still there, thick in the night air.

Beside me, Tobias and Talia moved in silent synchronicity, their eyes scanning the darkened husk of what had once been our foundation. The others would be here soon. This place had long been abandoned, left to rot in the whispers of the fearful.

The slum folk claimed a beast had made its lair here, some shadowy creature born from the destruction five years ago. I didn't blame them. After all, the ground had shaken with the force of those explosions, and the streets had been painted red with the aftermath.

Now, the ruins stood like a carcass picked clean by time and neglect. And somewhere inside, waiting in the dark, was the man we had come for.

Then, we saw them—the duo. Handy, with his usual swagger, and another man beside him, someone I didn't recognize but could guess his purpose. The assistant. The one meant to ensure the Link's compliance. His presence was just another layer to this already fragile operation.

As they closed the distance, Handy's voice cut through the night air, casual yet edged with something sharper. "So this is the shithole ya came from?" His gaze swept over the ruins, unimpressed.

A moment of silence passed before Tobias responded, his voice carrying that same dry, unbothered tone. "Yeah, as good as new, man."

I barely acknowledged the exchange, keeping my focus on the assistant. He was quiet, unreadable, standing just slightly behind Handy like a shadow. There was something about him—rigid, almost detached. Professional.

"Have you been briefed on what you'll be doing?" I asked, my words measured.

He gave a single nod, offering nothing more. No introduction, no unnecessary words. Just confirmation.

I exhaled, scanning the group. "Alright. We're here. Now, we just have to hope he is too."

A shared understanding settled between us, silent but palpable. There was no room for mistakes. Everyone nodded, their bodies tightening with anticipation, their breath held in unspoken readiness. The hunt was on.

We moved through the camp in silence, our steps careful, deliberate. The night pressed in around us, thick with the scent of old rot and damp wood. Shadows stretched long across the ground, cast by the skeletal remains of what had once been homes, meeting places, strongholds. Now, they were nothing but hollowed-out shells, like carcasses left to decay.

Splitting into teams of two, I stuck with Talia. We had one job: search the main shack—his shack. Gideon's. Even the thought of stepping inside it again made my stomach twist. But there was no room for hesitation.

As we moved, the memories I had spent years shoving into the darkest corners of my mind clawed their way back to the surface. The bodies piled high, the thick stench of blood soaking the dirt, the screams that never seemed to end.

My pulse kicked up, but I shook my head, forcing myself to stay in the present. I glanced at Talia and found her in the same fight, her expression distant, her eyes carrying ghosts of their own.

We pressed forward, picking through the wreckage, checking every shack, every possible hiding place. If he was here, we'd find him. And if he wasn't, we'd figure out the next step. But the longer we searched, the quieter it felt, the kind of quiet that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

Eventually, we stopped in front of the central shack. It was smaller than I remembered—almost too small. The structure sagged under its own weight, the wooden frame half-broken, leaning in as if trying to fold itself away from the world.

I met Talia's gaze, and we nodded in unspoken agreement. No more stalling.

I pushed the door open. The hinges groaned, a soft creak breaking the silence. Then… nothing. No movement. No sound. No Link.

Just a room frozen in time. My eyes swept over the space, landing on it. The throne. Still standing. Still there.

And suddenly, I was back. Standing in this very spot, Elias half-conscious in my arms, his fever burning through him as I begged Gideon for help. My breath stilled.

A hand on my shoulder jolted me back to the present. My breath caught, my muscles tensing before I turned, locking eyes with Talia. Her gaze was steady, grounding.

Fuck.

I blinked, shaking off the weight of the past. The shack around me was nothing more than a crumbling relic now, barely standing, a ghost of its former self. But he wasn't here. Where the hell could that fucker be?

Then, the pieces snapped together. A flicker of memory, something I'd overlooked in the haze of searching. Of course. How hadn't I thought of it sooner?

I turned to Talia, my voice low but firm. "Follow me."

She nodded, though she still looked dazed, like she was only half here, half lost in the same storm I'd just crawled out of. But she followed, step after step, as I led her to the place where everything had fallen apart.

Where my hope had been shattered, and I'd been forced to stare down the truth of just how naïve I'd been.

The hole.

When we reached it, I let out a slow breath. It was smaller than I remembered, but the destruction of that night had warped it, widened the edges. Maybe, just maybe, I could squeeze through.

Talia's sharp inhale told me she'd caught up to my thoughts. Her eyes flicked to mine, the realization settling between us.

This was it. At least something told me. 

This had to be fast. That's why I let Talia go first. Her smaller frame and heightened reflexes made her the perfect choice to drop in and act before anyone even knew what hit them. I watched as her muscles coiled, her sharp gaze locking onto the darkness below. Then, without hesitation, she vanished into the hole.

A second later, the faint sound of water rippling reached my ears, then silence. I held my breath, counting the moments. Then—a whistle.

Fucking hell. We had him.

I pressed my fingers to my lips and whistled back, the sound echoing through the hollow space below. No need to wait for the others—I followed without hesitation, dropping down and landing in the damp underground.

The air was thick with the stench of stagnant water and shit, but none of that mattered. My ears were already honing in on the voices ahead.

"H-hey, what the hell do you want? You're Talia, right? I—I think there's been some kind of misunderstanding—"

Smack.

The sharp slap cut through the air like a whipcrack. Yep. It was really him.

A slow grin spread across my face as I moved toward the sound. I didn't rush—I kept my pace measured, deliberate. The kind of walk that made the blood of cowards run cold.

People like Link only knew how to act tough when they had someone weaker to prey on. Strip that away, and all that was left was a rat backed into a corner.

The only noise in the tunnel was the steady splash of my footsteps against the waterlogged floor. The tension in the air was thick enough to choke on.

I let my voice cut through it like a knife.

"Oh, Link, Link, Link..." I let the words stretch, savoring them. "You pathetic little rat. You really thought you could hide from me?"

"H-hello, Rowan." His voice wavered, a pitiful attempt at keeping steady. "Could you, uh, tell her to let me go? This really hurts, you know?"

The Link—short, twitchy, and barely clinging to whatever scraps of dignity he had left—looked up at me with pleading eyes. He wasn't old, maybe thirty at most, but stress had carved deep lines into his face, etching the weight of too many bad deals and too much time spent looking over his shoulder.

I had nothing but disgust for his kind. The snakes. The ones who groveled at the feet of the strong while sinking their fangs into the weak.

And yet, for all his cowardice, I couldn't deny that he had value. Not in strength—he was about as threatening as a kicked dog—but in what he knew. Because knowledge, as they say, is power. And this bastard? He knew a lot.

I let a slow smile spread across my face. Not the friendly kind. No, the kind that should set off every survival instinct in his body.

"Release you?" My voice was quiet, but each word carried weight. "You're lucky I don't tell her to snap your neck right now."

His breath hitched, panic flashing across his face. Good. Let him feel it.

"I trusted you," I continued, my tone sharpening like a blade. "And you sold us out. To them." My gaze bored into him, daring him to deny it. "And you knew, didn't you? Of course you knew. You knew exactly what they did, and what they'd do."

He opened his mouth, maybe to protest, maybe to beg, but I wasn't finished.

"And you didn't just do it once." I took a step closer, watching as he shrank back, muscles tensing as if that would save him. "No, you did it a second time. Like our lives were just a game."

My smile vanished, my voice dropping into something colder.

"You must really have a death wish, Link."

Then I caught it—the flicker of hope in his eyes as they darted past me, locking onto something behind my back. A lifeline. A desperate gamble.

Talia's voice cut through the tension, sharp with warning. "Rowan!"

Fool.

I moved before the blade even had a chance to reach me, sidestepping with practiced ease. The air shifted as the knife sliced through empty space where I had stood a second ago. My body flowed with the motion, a sharp pivot, a flick of my wrist—my dagger unsheathed in a fluid arc.

Steel met flesh.

A sickening, wet gasp. The warmth of blood spilling against my fingers. The would-be assassin's body collapsed at my feet, twitching once before going still.

What a waste. Sneaky, yes—but not enough.

I exhaled, rolling the tension from my shoulders as I turned back to Link. He was trembling now, his entire frame shivering like a leaf caught in a storm.

Good. As he should be.

I tilted my head, studying him, letting the silence stretch between us like a blade against his throat. Then, finally, I spoke.

"You really don't know me at all, do you?" My voice was low, almost amused. "I expected more from you, Link."