The Rusty Anchor smelled worse as the rain outside thickened into a savage downpour.
Jackim stayed inside, shoulders hunched, turning Jason's napkin over and over between his fingers.
The Rusty Anchor Bar
11:45 AM
Rain hammering down hard, thunder cracking distant skies.
He needed more than just a name.
He needed leverage — something Jason might know but was too afraid to say openly.
Jackim stood, flipping his hood over his soaked hair, and pushed out into the street.
Water sloshed around his sneakers, leaking into the holes at the sides.
The gray city stretched in front of him like a dying beast, wounded and coughing smoke.
He moved fast through crooked alleyways, cutting toward a place he swore he'd never return to.
---
Kensington Avenue — East Haidan
12:23 PM
Skies darkening further, wind whipping trash down the gutters.
The old red-brick library stood like a fossil among all the neon and glass.
Nobody came here anymore — except the ones who needed to vanish.
Jackim slipped inside, the musty air wrapping him like a shroud.
Behind the counter, hidden by rows of broken bookshelves, sat Maya Reed — 24, ex-hacker, now a ghost keeping low.
Sharp, sly, suspicious of everything.
Maya had wild copper curls pinned up lazily, green eyes that saw too much, and slender fingers tattooed with tiny circuit designs.
She wore an oversized army jacket, ripped leggings, and combat boots too big for her thin frame.
When she spotted Jackim, her lips twisted into a half-smirk.
"Thought you were dead," she said.
"Not yet," Jackim answered, voice low.
Maya's gaze narrowed.
"You bring heat?"
"Always," he muttered.
She motioned him over.
Jackim slid into the chair across from her, the legs scraping harshly against the cracked tile floor.
"You're in deep," she said, tossing a flash drive onto the table.
"Found something on your precious locket."
Jackim's heart jumped.
He grabbed the drive — cold, heavy — and slipped it into his hoodie pocket.
"Careful," Maya said.
"Whatever you're mixed up in... it's bigger than you think."
---
Wicker Bridge, Haidan River
2:01 PM
Mist rising off the gray water, mixing with the last threads of rain.
Jackim crossed the narrow bridge, feeling the city press closer, hungrier.
Every step echoed like a death knell.
The flash drive burned against his chest.
He didn't even know what he was looking for anymore — survival, revenge, the truth?
Maybe it didn't matter.
Maybe he was already too late.
---
Café du Ciel, Upper Haidan
2:23 PM
Heavy clouds draped over the skyline, choking out the sun.
Susan sipped her tea, unbothered by the storm.
Across the table sat Vincent Cross — 29, legal shark by day, hired blade by night.
Crisp navy suit, black leather gloves still damp from the rain.
Face sharp, carved from cruelty.
"You gave him the flash drive," Vincent said flatly.
Susan smiled sweetly, twirling her spoon between delicate fingers.
"Of course," she replied.
"How else will he dance for me?"
Vincent frowned, suspicion darkening his gray eyes.
"You're playing with fire."
Susan laughed — a sound like glass breaking.
"Darling," she said, "I am the fire."
Outside, sirens screamed through the streets.
The city was starting to wake up — hungry, vicious, ready to tear itself apart.
And Jackim was standing right in the center of it all.
---