The bar was dimly lit, a haze of cigarette smoke drifting lazily in the stale air. Jack McConnell hunched over the counter, his fingers gripping the chipped glass of bourbon like it was his last lifeline. The twang of some old country song crackled out of the ancient jukebox in the corner, its tune clashing awkwardly with the low murmur of conversation and the clinking of glasses around him. The place wasn't empty, but it wasn't exactly packed either—a few regulars lined the bar, nursing drinks and staring blankly at the walls.
Jack threw back another shot, the amber liquid burning down his throat. He welcomed the fire, the numbing warmth that spread through his veins. Anything to drown out the mess in his head. The loss of Alitzel had hit harder than he'd expected, leaving him restless and on edge. He'd known she was dangerous, unpredictable, but losing her to Blackthorn? That was a blow he hadn't seen coming.
Outside, the distant rumble of an engine caught his ear. He glanced up, frowning slightly as a vintage car rolled to a stop outside the bar, its headlights casting eerie shadows against the dirty windows. The car was old—older than any of the beat-up trucks lining the parking lot—a relic from another era, its once-polished body now dulled by dust and rust. Jack watched as the engine cut off, the hum fading into the background noise of the bar.
The door creaked open, and a man stepped inside. He was thin, almost frail, his frame swallowed by a threadbare, dusty suit. His face was lined and scarred, and a black patch covered his left eye, giving him a sharp, unsettling look. He paused just inside the doorway, scanning the room with his single eye until his gaze settled on Jack.
Jack straightened, eyes narrowing as the man approached, each step deliberate and unhurried. He stopped beside Jack's stool, resting a gnarled hand on the bar.
"Bourbon," the man rasped, voice low and gravelly.
The bartender—a burly guy with a perpetual scowl—raised an eyebrow but poured a glass without comment. The stranger took it, turning slightly to face Jack.
"Mind if I join you?" he asked.
Jack stared at him for a moment, then shrugged, gesturing to the empty stool beside him. "Suit yourself."
The man slid onto the stool, taking a slow sip of his drink. Jack watched him warily, noting the way his single eye seemed to glint in the dim light, sharp and alert. There was something familiar about him, something that tugged at the edges of Jack's memory, but he couldn't quite place it.
"What do you want?" Jack asked finally, his voice edged with suspicion.
The man smiled—a thin, humorless smile. "Just a conversation, Mr. McConnell. Thought you might like to hear about the latest... developments in the Games."
Jack's hand tightened around his glass. "And who are you to know about the Games?"
"Ryan Seddon," the man said quietly. "Ex-Blackthorn. Fought in the Wars. Saw more blood and death than most men should, but that's all history now."
"Ryan Seddon..." Jack murmured, brow furrowing. The name stirred something in the back of his mind, a half-forgotten tale whispered over campfires. A warrior—one who'd vanished after the Vinterfold betrayal. Jack's eyes narrowed. "Why should I believe you?"
Ryan shrugged, unperturbed. "Believe what you want. But I was there when they dragged your girl into the castle—saw her rip through half a dozen of Blackthorn's best before they finally managed to put her down."
Jack's breath caught, his chest tightening. "You saw Alitzel?"
"I did," Ryan replied calmly, taking another sip of his drink. "She fought like a devil, gave them hell. But they have her now. And losing her... well, it's not just a loss in the Games. It's a blow to everything you're trying to build."
Jack scowled, anger flaring hot and bright. "What would you know about what I'm building?"
"I know she was more than just a fighter to you," Ryan murmured, his gaze steady. "She was a symbol. A message. And now that Blackthorn has her, that message is gone."
Jack stared at him, the tension thrumming through his veins. "What's your point?"
"My point," Ryan said slowly, "is that you're wasting her. She's more powerful than you realize. With the right guidance, she could take down Blackthorn—maybe even take control of New Columbia itself."
"Control New Columbia?" Jack repeated, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "You think I haven't tried? They're too strong. She's—"
"She's your best shot," Ryan interrupted sharply. "But not if you keep throwing her into the pit without a plan. And certainly not if you let them break her."
Silence fell between them, heavy and charged. Jack stared at the man beside him, weighing his words, the suspicion warring with a desperate flicker of hope. "And you're offering... what, exactly? Advice?"
Ryan smiled again, a cold, calculating smile. "I'm offering you a way in. I know the layout of Blackthorn's castle better than anyone alive. And I know someone on the inside—someone we can work with to take down Blackthorn from within."
Jack's eyes narrowed. "Why would you help me?"
The smile faded, replaced by something darker, something that made Jack's skin prickle. Ryan leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper.
"Because the Vinterfolds betrayed me. Took my eye. Left me to die. And now I want revenge. Blackthorn is just the first step. You help me, and I'll help you get your girl back. Then we tear them down—piece by bloody piece."
Jack's heart hammered, his mind racing. It was madness—suicide, probably. But the thought of Alitzel trapped in that place, used as a pawn in Blackthorn's twisted games...
"What's the catch?" he asked quietly.
"No catch," Ryan said softly. "Just a mutual understanding. You want Blackthorn gone. I want vengeance. We work together, or we go down alone."
Jack hesitated, then slowly extended his hand. "You better not be wasting my time, Seddon."
Ryan's grin was sharp and feral as he grasped Jack's hand in a firm shake. "I never waste time, McConnell. Now let's get to work."
Ryan leaned back, a glint of anticipation in his eye. "First, let me tell you about your mole. They're closer than you think—and they've been waiting for this moment for a long, long time.
Jack didn't let go of Ryan's hand immediately. His grip tightened, eyes narrowing as he leaned forward, his voice low and edged with suspicion. "Who's the mole?"
Ryan tilted his head, the smirk never leaving his face. "Slow down, McConnell. You think I'm going to hand over all my cards just like that? No, this isn't a free-for-all. We play it smart, one step at a time."
"Enough games," Jack growled, yanking his hand back. "You show up out of nowhere, spinning stories about vengeance and moles, expecting me to just fall in line?"
"I expect you to listen," Ryan countered calmly. "You want Alitzel back? You want Blackthorn's head on a spike? Then we do this my way."
Jack clenched his jaw, the muscles in his neck straining. He didn't like being cornered, didn't like being played. But he couldn't deny the spark of hope flickering at the edges of his rage. Alitzel. The thought of her, trapped and chained, made his blood boil. If Ryan could deliver what he promised…
"Start talking," Jack said finally, his voice tight.
Ryan leaned back, looking almost relaxed now, as if he'd known all along Jack would come around. He took a slow sip of his bourbon before speaking. "The mole's name is Cassian Fentmore - Blackthorns chief strategist. You've probably saw him during Alitzel's capture. The man who decides who fights, who dies, and who gets promoted within the pack."
Jack frowned. "Cassian is Blackthorn's *strategist*? That doesn't make sense. He's loyal to a fault."
"Loyalty is a funny thing," Ryan murmured. "He's loyal, yes—but not to Blackthorn. He's got his own agenda, his own reasons for playing the part of the obedient dog. And right now, those reasons align with ours."
Jack's mind raced, piecing together fragments of information, trying to make sense of it all. "Why would Cassian turn against his own pack?"
Ryan's smile turned cold. "Because he wants Blackthorn gone as much as we do. The revenge stems from his father who served in the army during the war. But for him, it's not about power but more of revenge. Blackthorn's become… weak, vulnerable. He's starting to suspect even his own men, making decisions that put them all at risk. Cassian sees the writing on the wall—he knows Blackthorn's going to bring the whole pack down with him."
Jack was silent, absorbing the information. If what Ryan said was true, then Cassian was a ticking time bomb, just waiting for the right moment to turn. But it didn't add up. "Why hasn't Kell acted already? If he's that desperate to take Blackthorn down, why hasn't he made a move?"
"Because he needs a distraction," Ryan said softly. "Someone strong enough to take the focus off him. Someone like Alitzel."
Realization dawned, sharp and bitter. "You're saying he wants to use her as bait."
"Not bait," Ryan corrected. "A catalyst. If she breaks out—if she goes on a rampage—Blackthorn will be too busy dealing with her to notice Cassian slipping the knife in."
Jack's breath hissed through his teeth. "And what happens to her? What happens to Alitzel if this plan of yours works?"
Ryan's gaze didn't waver. "That depends on you."
Jack stared at him, the weight of those words settling heavy on his shoulders. A part of him wanted to snap, to grab Ryan by the collar and slam him against the bar until he got real answers. But the other part—the part that knew the desperation in Ryan's eye, the truth hidden beneath his calm facade—held him back.
"Fine," Jack muttered, jaw clenched. "What's the plan?"
Ryan leaned forward, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Cassian's waiting for us to make the first move. He needs proof that we're serious, that we're capable of pulling this off. And that means getting into Blackthorn's stronghold."
Jack's eyes widened. "You're insane. That place is a fortress. Even if we made it past the outer perimeter, we'd be dead before we set foot in the courtyard."
"Not if we go through the service tunnels," Ryan said calmly. "They're old, built before Blackthorn took over. Most of the guards don't even know they exist. We slip in, meet Cassian, and he gets us access to Alitzel's cell."
Jack rubbed a hand over his face, the enormity of the plan crashing down on him. "You really think it'll work?"
"It has to," Ryan said quietly. "Because if it doesn't, Blackthorn won't just kill Alitzel. He'll break her. He'll turn her into a weapon against us."
Silence stretched between them, tense and heavy. Jack could feel the weight of the decision pressing down on him, every instinct screaming at him to run, to cut his losses and find another way. But there was no other way. If he wanted Alitzel back, if he wanted to stop Blackthorn once and for all, this was the only shot he had.
"Alright," Jack said finally, his voice steady. "We do it your way. But if you cross me—"
"I won't," Ryan interrupted, a flicker of something dark and fierce in his gaze. "I want Blackthorn dead as much as you do, McConnell. Just remember: this isn't about you or me. It's about the future of this city. And right now, the only future that doesn't end in blood and ashes is the one where Blackthorn falls."
Jack nodded slowly, the resolve settling in his bones. "Then let's make it happen."
Jack watched as Ryan slid off the stool and turned toward the door, his steps light and purposeful. The sound of the door swinging shut echoed through the bar, leaving Jack alone in the dim light, his thoughts racing.
He took a deep breath, downed the rest of his bourbon in one gulp, and slammed the glass onto the counter.
"Soon," he murmured to himself, the word laced with grim determination. "One way or another, this ends."