Sam returned to the apartment under the cover of darkness, his shoulders hunched against the biting wind. The city streets were quiet now, the usual noise of late-night life muted. It suited his mood.
His mind replayed the events at Crescent Street, the shadowed man who had taken the package, and the smirking Brotherhood recruiter's mocking grin. Whatever he had just delivered, it wasn't ordinary, and the thought weighed heavily on him.
The apartment was quiet when he entered. Emma's door was closed, her faint snores drifting through the thin walls. Sam sighed in relief. She hadn't waited up for him.
He moved to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water, the cool liquid doing little to soothe the tightness in his throat. As he stood there in the dim light, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He hesitated before pulling it out, dreading the message he knew would be waiting.
The text was short:
Tomorrow, 9 PM. The park. Bring nothing but yourself.
Sam stared at the screen, his jaw tightening. Another test, no doubt, and this one promised to be worse than the last.
He tossed the phone onto the counter and leaned back against the wall, running a hand through his hair. Was this what his life had come to? Running errands for a shadowy organization with no clue what he was truly getting into?
But then he thought of Emma—her soft smile, her dreams of a better life. Everything he was doing, every step into this abyss, was for her.
The next morning, Emma greeted him with a smile, though the worry lingered in her eyes.
"I made pancakes," she said, holding up a plate with a triumphant grin.
Sam blinked, surprised. "Pancakes? How?"
"I saved some of the money you gave me," she admitted, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Figured we deserved a little treat."
He couldn't help but smile. Emma's ability to find joy in the smallest things never ceased to amaze him.
They sat together at the rickety table, the warmth of the pancakes and the sound of Emma's chatter temporarily chasing away the shadows that clung to Sam. She talked about her plans to enroll in night classes, her hopes of one day becoming a teacher.
"You'd be a great teacher," Sam said, meaning it.
Emma beamed, her eyes shining with hope. "You think so?"
"I know so," he replied, his voice firm.
For a moment, he let himself believe that their lives could change, that Emma's dreams could come true. But the thought was fleeting, chased away by the weight of the Brotherhood's grip on him.
By the time night fell, Sam was ready for the meeting, though his nerves were frayed. The park was mostly empty, the cold weather keeping people indoors. He stood near the fountain, his breath visible in the crisp air.
It wasn't long before they appeared. The smirking man was there again, flanked by two others Sam hadn't seen before—a burly figure with a shaved head and a woman with piercing eyes that seemed to dissect him with a glance.
"Right on time," the smirking man said, clapping his hands together. "I knew you'd make it."
"What's this about?" Sam asked, keeping his voice steady despite the unease building in his chest.
"Tonight's test is a little more… hands-on," the man replied, his smirk widening. He gestured toward the woman, who stepped forward and held out a small black box.
Sam hesitated before taking it. The box was surprisingly light, its surface smooth and cold to the touch.
"Open it," the man urged.
Sam lifted the lid and froze. Inside was a knife, its blade gleaming in the faint light.
"What is this?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"A task," the smirking man said, his tone growing serious. "There's someone we need you to deal with. A small-time informant who's been selling us out to the authorities. Nothing too messy—just scare him. Make sure he gets the message. We'll take care of the rest."
Sam's stomach churned. "And if I refuse?"
The man's smirk disappeared, replaced by a cold, calculating expression. "You won't refuse. You're in too deep now, mate."
Sam looked down at the knife, the weight of it pressing against his conscience.
"Where is he?" he asked finally, his voice hollow.
The man handed him a slip of paper with an address scribbled on it. "He'll be alone. Just make it quick."
Sam nodded, slipping the knife and the paper into his pocket. The smirking man clapped him on the shoulder.
"You'll do fine," he said. "We'll be watching."
The address led Sam to a dingy apartment building on the outskirts of the city. The hallway smelled of stale cigarettes and despair, the flickering lights casting jagged shadows on the walls.
He found the door easily enough—Apartment 3C. His heart pounded as he stood there, his hand hovering over the doorknob.
This was it. The point of no return.
He took a deep breath and knocked.
The door opened slightly, revealing a tired-looking man in his forties. His eyes were bloodshot, and his clothes hung loosely on his wiry frame.
"Who are you?" the man asked, his voice wary.
Sam didn't answer. Instead, he stepped forward, forcing the door open. The man stumbled back, his expression shifting from confusion to fear.
"Wait," the man said, his hands raised defensively. "I don't know who sent you, but I can—"
"Shut up," Sam growled, his voice harsher than he intended. He pulled the knife from his pocket, the blade catching the dim light.
The man froze, his eyes wide with terror. "Please, I've got a family. I'll do whatever you want. Just don't—"
"I'm not here to kill you," Sam interrupted, though the words felt hollow. "But if you keep talking, that might change."
The man swallowed hard, nodding rapidly.
"Here's what you're going to do," Sam said, his voice low and steady. "You're going to stop talking to the authorities. You're going to disappear. If I hear even a whisper of your name again, I'll be back. And next time, I won't just scare you."
The man nodded again, his face pale.
Sam backed away, his hand still gripping the knife. The man didn't move, too paralyzed by fear to even breathe.
As Sam stepped out into the hallway, he felt a mix of relief and disgust. He had done what they asked, but at what cost?
The shadows of the Brotherhood loomed larger now, their grip tightening with every step he took into their world.