The pale light of the moon painted everything in muted grays and silvers as Adélard moved cautiously through the maze of dark alleys. The package pressed tightly against his chest felt like a heartbeat that didn't belong to him, a pulse that whispered of danger with every step he took. The city around him was quieter at this hour, but not silent. There were always sounds—the creak of wood, the scurry of rats, the occasional clatter of a distant cart—but beneath it all, a tension lingered, thick and suffocating.
One mistake, one misstep, and it could all come crashing down.
It wasn't just fear for his own life; it was the weight of a promise, the silent vow to get his mother back. Destroying the package would have been so easy—to rip it open, scatter whatever cursed contents it held into the ocean, and be done with it. But the image of his mother's face, hollow and weary, loomed in his mind. Adélard gritted his teeth and pushed forward, slipping from shadow to shadow.
Then he heard it—a low murmur, voices drifting through the air.
Panic flared in his chest. He was close to the delivery point, but so were they. He shrank back, pressing himself against a wall as the voices grew louder, sharper. They were searching for him. It was the bald one who led them, a brute of a man with shoulders like an ox and a voice that rumbled like distant thunder. The others were close behind, the scrape of their boots echoing too clearly in the stillness.
There was no time to think, no time to weigh his options. He dove behind a row of bins, the stench of rotting food and waste hitting him like a physical blow. Gagging, he forced himself to stay still, to crouch low as he wedged himself between the metal bins. The smell was unbearable, thick and cloying, wrapping around him like a suffocating shroud, but he had to endure it. He tightened his hold on the package, willing it to stay silent, to stay hidden.
The bald man's voice boomed through the narrow alley. "You worthless idiots! How did you let him slip past? We had one job—one! Do you know what'll happen to us if we don't get that package?" He punctuated each word with a vicious kick to the bins nearest him, the clanging sound reverberating like gunfire in the still night.
Adélard's pulse hammered in his ears as he tried to peek through a gap in the trash. He saw the big man, a hulking shadow in the moonlight, his bald head gleaming. There were two others flanking him, smaller and wirier, their movements twitchy and nervous. The brute was clearly in charge, barking orders, his frustration mounting with every second they failed to find him.
"You guys are pieces of trash!" he roared, his voice raw with fury. "If we had that package, we could have earned our place with the boss."
Adélard could see him now, kicking bins over one by one as he advanced down the alley, heading straight for him. Panic tightened his throat. He needed a plan—a distraction, something. Anything. His hand groped blindly through the trash, fingers scraping against cold metal, sticky plastic, and then—
A bag. Small and soft, probably filled with the remains of some poor animal's dinner. He didn't think. As the bald man's shadow loomed over his hiding place, Adélard launched himself upward, swinging the bag straight at his face.
The bald man staggered back, caught off guard. Before he could recover, Adélard surged forward, driving his fist hard into the man's face. There was a sickening crunch of bone, followed by a bellow of pain. Adélard didn't stop. He spun, slamming his knee into the man's groin, and as the brute doubled over, gasping, Adélard struck again, this time with an elbow to the side of his head.
The man went down, choking on his own pain, but Adélard was relentless. He dropped on top of him, fists flying, each blow fueled by the fear and anger he'd kept bottled up. Blood spattered across his hands, warm and sticky, but Adélard didn't care. He drove the man into the ground, again and again, until the fight left him completely.
Silence. The only sound was the ragged breathing of the man beneath him, unconscious but alive. Adélard stood, panting, chest heaving. His knuckles throbbed, slick with blood—some his own, most of it not. He glanced up, eyes darting nervously. Where were the other two?
He didn't wait to find out. Grabbing the package, he turned and ran, slipping through the narrow alleys as fast as his legs could carry him. He didn't stop until he was sure he was alone, the distant shouts of the other men echoing behind him.
He arrived at the drop-off point breathless, hands trembling. It was a small house on the outskirts of the city, nondescript and unassuming. A single lantern burned in the window, casting a weak, flickering light across the darkened street. He knocked, three short raps followed by one long. The door creaked open, revealing a woman standing in the doorway.
She was older, with lines of exhaustion etched into her face, her hair pulled back in a tight bun. Her eyes flicked to the package, then to Adélard's bloodied hands and torn shirt. She didn't ask questions.
"Rourke sent me," Adélard said quietly, holding out the package. The woman nodded once, taking it from him with a look that was somewhere between relief and wariness.
"You did well," she murmured, stepping back. "Now go. Quickly."
Adélard didn't argue. He turned and left, the door closing softly behind him. He was free—at least for now. But as he made his way back through the empty streets, exhaustion weighing heavy on his shoulders, he knew that tonight's fight was only the beginning. The city felt darker, more dangerous, and he could almost feel eyes watching him from the shadows.
Then, as he rounded a corner, he froze. The two men were there, standing at the far end of the alley, their faces hidden beneath the brims of their hats. They'd found him.
"Look what we have here," one of them sneered, stepping forward slowly. He drew a long, thin knife from his coat, the blade gleaming in the moonlight.
Adélard's heart slammed in his chest. His body ached, his limbs heavy with fatigue, but he forced himself to stand tall, fists clenching.
He wasn't done yet.
"Where's the package?" the second man growled, eyes narrowing.
Adélard didn't answer. He took a step back, then another, his gaze darting around for an escape route. But the alley was too narrow, the walls too high. He was trapped.
The men advanced slowly, the knife flashing menacingly.
"Looks like we'll have to teach you a lesson," the first one said softly, his voice dripping with malice.
Adélard's muscles coiled, ready for the fight.
He had no intention of going down quietly.