Chapter two... Clock tower

For reasons beyond my understanding, each breath I took only deepened the fear clawing at my chest. Fear was no stranger to me—I had lived alongside it, endured it—but in this moment, there was no discernible threat, no tangible danger. And yet, I was afraid. My breathing turned shallow, erratic. My gaze darted around in search of an answer, until I remembered—the water. My refuge lay just beneath me.

Without hesitation, I plunged in. The stench that had clung to me dissipated, and with it, the suffocating dread. Submerged, I lingered in the silence, the cold water wrapping around me like a lullaby for the restless. Images of my past surfaced, unbidden. A kitchen knife sailing through the air, landing at the feet of a small boy. My own feet pounding against the pavement, chased by the ever-watchful eyes of the street enforcers—those we called the Watchers. A sharp sting against my neck pulled me to a fresher memory: a fight, my fists striking another boy my age. Street MMA. The only way I knew to make money.

I exhaled deeply, bubbles rising toward the surface, carrying with them the weight of memories I could never outrun. After a few more moments, I emerged, the cool night air greeting my damp skin. With practiced ease, I gathered my long black hair into a ponytail, securing it with a rubber band, leaving a few strands to fall to my shoulders. I could waste any more time, I had places to be, and clothes to change since my beautiful outfit was now wet.

Hours had passed, and midday had settled in like an old friend. I was laughing, a half-empty can of cheap beer dangling from my fingers. Everything tasted better when you hadn't paid for it—especially when you had no money to begin with. And I was savoring every drop.

"Caster, I didn't think you were actually gonna come," Harry—the man of the hour—grinned as he slung an arm over my shoulder. Then, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, he added, "I'm gonna tell Kaya how I feel today."

I spat out my drink.

Heads turned at the spectacle of my sudden choking fit, but after a brief glance at my pale face, everyone shrugged and resumed their business. Unbothered. Typical. But my face wasn't pale for just one reason—it was two.

First, Harry, my best friend, had been harboring feelings for Kaya for as long as I could remember. What he didn't know was that Kaya and I had… history. And I wasn't about to tell him, because it would break him. Not to mention, she never even saw me that way—no, to her, I was more of a pet, an amusing distraction. Annoying, sure, but she had ways of getting to me. Ways I wasn't proud to admit.

But that wasn't even the worst part.

The real tragedy was that, in my moment of shock, I had wasted my precious, free beer. And that hurt. Badly. That beer was just as expensive as my entire net worth. And I wasn't exaggerating—my foster father, a lifelong drunk, had once tried to trade me for a can of beer when he lost his wallet. True story.

Still mourning the loss of my drink, I turned back to Harry, raising an eyebrow. "And where'd this sudden courage come from?" I asked, lifting my can but hesitating, unwilling to risk another spit-take.

"She's been giving me this look," he said, his expression serious. "Like she wants me."

'Or wants to devour you,' I thought grimly.

Harry, oblivious, kept going. "Anyway, how's your birthday gonna be tomorrow? And why didn't you want us to celebrate it together like we always do?" His voice carried a hint of concern.

Unfortunately, his question reminded me of the answer. A sad smile tugged at my lips. "Not really feeling it this year," I said. "I'll make it up to you next year, though."

I smiled wider to mask the weight behind those words, because deep down, I knew—there wasn't going to be a next year. Not for one of us. And little did I know, that was more true than I could have ever imagined.

The party wound down, and as I stepped out of the makeshift building, a pair of hands slid under my shirt. I let out a weary sigh, grabbing them before they could wander further.

"What do you want, Kaya?" I asked, my frown obvious.

"Jeez, vibe killer much?" she pouted, pulling her hands away with feigned innocence.

Then, for the first time in a long time, her playful smirk faded. "Caster," she said, her voice quieter. "Don't go."

Worry slipped through the cracks of her usual mask of indifference, making it harder to look at her. But I had no choice.

"I have to," I murmured. "If I stay, they'll come for all of us. And look around, Kaya. I can't let that happen."

She moved to block my path, desperation flickering in her eyes. "We can figure something out," she insisted.

I wished I could believe her. But if I didn't go, I'd have to watch her live in fear every single day—until the inevitable happened. That was a future I couldn't bear.

"I'm sorry," I said, head bowed. "I'll be back, Kaya. I promise."

She didn't speak. Instead, she pulled me into a real hug this time—one that didn't come with teasing or ulterior motives. Just warmth.

"Promise?" she whispered against my shoulder.

"I promise," I said, though my throat suddenly felt tight.

The night air was heavy as I left the building, my feet weighed down by the burden of my destination. I wasn't going somewhere people returned from. Not unless they were both smart and lucky.

A few months ago, a city drug lord had given us a job. As usual, I took it and executed it flawlessly, which earned me an unwanted title—his favorite. And that's where everything unraveled. Because working for a drug lord meant making enemies. Powerful ones.

When the threats started coming, I made a choice. I betrayed him, sold some stolen intel to a rival who promised protection. But trusting a drug lord had been a mistake. The bastard skipped town the very next day, leaving us to face the wrath of our former employer alone.

In the end, I made a deal: leave my people alone, and I'd turn myself in. They were too proud to refuse.

That was where I was headed now.

I slid a dagger into the makeshift sheath inside my black shirt, pulled on a pair of combat joggers, then draped my black overcoat—the only thing of my mother's I still had—over my shoulders. And with that, I donned the final piece of my arsenal: a mask of confidence.

As I moved through the streets, a distant figure caught my eye, standing deep within the city—the very place I was forbidden from entering.

I turned my gaze to the clock tower, watching as the hands shifted from 11:30 to 11:31. It happened every day.

But today, it felt like an omen. A bad one.