The truck rattled down the uneven streets, its bed loaded with a dozen wooden crates, each bearing the words "Precious Furniture" stenciled in black paint. Inside, however, there was nothing delicate about the cargo. Packed into those crates was a shipment that could make—or break—fortunes.
In the back of the truck, a dozen officers handpicked by Chief Crowley sat in tense silence, their hands resting close to their weapons. Each man had been chosen for his discretion and his loyalty, but that didn't make the atmosphere any less charged. They were there to assist with the transport of what Ivan privately referred to as "the goods," though none of them dared to utter the words aloud.
The truck wove through the city's labyrinthine streets, turning corner after corner until it reached Chinatown. The district buzzed with life, but Ivan's focus wasn't on the colorful signs or the bustling market stalls. Ahead lay the black dock, a shadowy nexus for illicit trade situated between St. Francis and Oakland. It was the kind of place where deals were made under cover of darkness, but today, Ivan was playing in the open.
After half an hour, the scent of brine hit the air, carried by a brisk sea breeze. Ivan squinted into the horizon as the pier came into view, a skeletal structure against the gray waves. Khaled was already waiting there, his tall frame unmistakable among the group of men surrounding him. The man carried himself with the easy confidence of someone who had seen everything and lived to tell the tale.
The truck slowed to a crawl before coming to a halt. Ivan stepped out, his boots crunching against the gravel as he approached Khaled. A wide grin spread across Khaled's face as he moved to meet him.
"Rocky!" Khaled called out warmly, his voice booming across the pier. "Long time no see! Have you brought everything?"
Ivan returned the smile, keeping his tone light and cordial. "Eight hundred kilograms, as promised. Feel free to test it."
Khaled nodded approvingly and gestured to his men. A handful of them climbed into the truck's bed and began unloading one of the crates. The sound of nails being pried loose filled the air as the wooden planks were carefully removed, revealing layers of paper. Nestled inside were brick-like packages wrapped in thick oil paper. One of Khaled's men grabbed a package, tore off the wrapping, and pinched a bit of the pale, powdery substance within. He brought it to his nose, inhaled deeply, and nodded in satisfaction.
"No problem, boss," the man confirmed.
"Good." Khaled turned back to Ivan, his smile still intact, though there was an edge to it now. "But I have to ask, who are your companions?"
Ivan followed Khaled's gaze to the officers standing nearby, their faces carefully neutral but their posture unmistakably alert. He spread his hands in a casual gesture, his tone disarming. "Just some help I hired for the transport. You didn't think I'd haul 800 kilograms by myself, did you?"
Khaled chuckled, but his sharp eyes flickered between the officers. "Fair point, Rocky. Still, I'd prefer if they stayed here. My men will take over the transport from this point on."
The air grew heavier, tension rippling through the group. The officers exchanged wary glances, their hands inching closer to their weapons. Ivan's mind raced. Had they been exposed? Was this a trap? The possibility gnawed at him for a brief moment before logic took over. The Robbins family and the police station were tightly connected, if there had been a traitor, it would've shown itself much earlier. If anything had been compromised, it would've been John's murder, but even that seemed unlikely. Santos had used his witchcraft to create a convincing illusion that John was still alive. The Metallia family shouldn't be able to see through it, at least not this quickly.
Unless, of course, someone among them had reached level A. The thought sent a chill down Ivan's spine. He knew that the power of a wizard increased exponentially with each level. John, a level C wizard, had been deadly enough. He only managed to defeat him with a sneak attack, exploiting John's overconfidence and momentary carelessness. If someone at level A was involved… well, Ivan knew better than to play with that fire.
Still, Ivan kept his face impassive, offering Khaled a calm smile. "Fair enough," he said lightly. "After all, it wouldn't be polite to bring an entire entourage to visit a host."
He paused, then gestured toward Mr. Cruise, who stood beside him with the quiet confidence of a man accustomed to danger. "But I'd like to keep him with me. He's been with me for a long time, and I trust him completely. I hope that won't be a problem?"
Khaled's eyes narrowed slightly as he studied Cruise. Though Cruise gave off no magical aura that suggested he was a wizard of any level, there was something about his demeanor; his sharp, poised stance and the calculating gleam in his eye, that made Khaled pause. Finally, the smuggler laughed, his suspicion melting into a grin.
"Rocky, are you worried we won't pay?" Khaled teased, folding his arms.
Ivan shrugged, matching Khaled's humor. "Eight hundred thousand dollars isn't exactly pocket change. You can't blame a guy for being cautious."
Khaled laughed again, a deep, rumbling sound that echoed across the pier. "Fair enough, Rocky. Fair enough. Your man can stay."
Ivan's smile deepened, but his mind remained sharp and alert. The game was still in play, and every move mattered.
Hared's smile remained plastered on his face, though his mind was racing. He weighed the situation carefully. In the family, his father was a C-level wizard, while he, Guzman, and Francis were D-level. Then there was Pablo, who was even lower on the chain. Even if Ivan had brought along a top C-level wizard, it wouldn't tip the scales too much. They had enough firepower to deal with any surprises.
"Alright, fine," Hared said at last, his voice smooth and nonchalant. "It's not a problem."
Ivan gave a slight nod, his expression neutral. It was as if everything was falling exactly into place—just as he'd planned.
Hared didn't waste any more time. Drug transportation was a delicate operation, and delays could attract the wrong kind of attention. He quickly turned to direct his men, motioning for them to get back to loading and unloading the cargo.
As Hared walked away, Mr. Cruise stepped closer to Ivan, his voice low. "I thought you had another reason for bringing me here to Oakland."
Ivan turned to him, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. "You're absolutely right, Mr. Cruise," he said. "I need your help with something... unique."
---
**20 Minutes Later, Another Dock on the Far Side of the Pier**
The scene was a mirror image of the earlier one, another group of workers unloading cargo from a ship and transferring it onto trucks. The air here carried the same salty tang, but there was an added tension in the air as the operation hummed along like clockwork.
Hared gestured to his men as they worked and then turned to Ivan. "Let's get moving. Time to deliver the goods."
He pointed toward the trucks. "Our warehouse isn't at the manor; it's a different location. Francis's waiting there to inspect the shipment. If everything checks out, you'll get paid in cash on the spot."
Ivan raised an eyebrow, a small chuckle escaping his lips. "Actually," he said with a smile, "how about this? Let Cruise handle the delivery. I have another errand to run."
Hared frowned slightly, his curiosity piqued. "What errand?"
Ivan's tone remained casual. "I asked Hua Zhixing to help me pick up some antique bowls. They've just arrived, and I need to go collect them. You know how it is, those merchants from back home always bring fascinating pieces."
Hared considered this for a moment. It wasn't unusual. The Chinese were known for their fondness for artifacts and antiques, often treating them like small treasures. Ivan's explanation didn't raise any alarms.
"Do you need someone to guide you?" Hared asked, his tone polite but probing.
"No need," Ivan replied with a wave of his hand. "I've memorized the way from my last visit."
"Alright, then." Hared nodded, satisfied for now.
Ivan turned with a slight nod, his footsteps slow and deliberate as he walked away from the dock.
---
But Hared wasn't one to leave loose ends. After a moment's thought, he motioned to one of his men. The henchman hurried over, awaiting orders.
"Follow him," Hared said, his voice low and firm. "Don't let him out of your sight, but don't get too close, either. I want to know exactly where he's going."
The minion nodded, his expression serious as he prepared to follow Ivan. But before he could leave, Hared added a final warning. "And remember, keep your distance. Wizards below C-level don't have any reliable way of sensing each other, but I still don't trust him."
The henchman hesitated briefly, understanding the stakes. Sending a regular man to tail someone like Ivan wasn't without its risks, but Hared had no choice, he couldn't spare himself or any of the other wizards from escorting the shipment.
The minion hurried off, his boots crunching softly against the gravel. Ivan was already a good distance ahead, strolling down Golden Street as if he didn't have a care in the world. From behind, the henchman tracked him, moving carefully and keeping to the shadows. As far as he could see, Ivan wasn't doing anything suspicious. His gait was calm, his pace steady. Maybe Hared's paranoia was misplaced.
"Nothing unusual…" the henchman muttered under his breath, already imagining where he'd go for a drink after this meaningless errand. In this Prohibition era, most people got their alcohol from underground speakeasies or the occasional pharmacy peddling cheap bootleg liquor. A cold drink seemed like the perfect reward for this boring assignment.
But just as the thought crossed his mind, Ivan's pace suddenly changed.
The henchman's attention snapped back into focus as he watched Ivan quicken his steps, his movements growing deliberate. The henchman followed suit, keeping up as best he could while maintaining his distance.
Then, without warning, Ivan veered sharply into an alleyway.
The henchman froze for a split second, his mind racing. Was this a trap? Or just an attempt to lose him? Gritting his teeth, he followed Ivan's path, his hand instinctively hovering near the small pistol tucked into his waistband. Whatever Ivan was up to, he wasn't about to let him slip away unnoticed.