BANG!! BANG !!
The shot rang out sharp and clean.
Not meant to kill.
The bullet tore through the rain and shattered the streetlamp above Clayton's head. Glass exploded outward, sparks hissing as darkness swallowed the alley. The echo lingered, bouncing off brick and steel like a warning that had already been delivered too late.
Clayton flinched.
He looked up slowly, rain streaking down the brim of his hat, eyes calm despite the sudden dark.
"Good," he said quietly. "That answers the question."
Boots hit the ground.
One.
Two.
Then many.
Figures stepped out from the shadows like they had been there all along fifteen men, give or take. Heavy coats. Thick arms. The kind of men who didn't need guns to hurt you, but carried them anyway. They spread out with practiced ease, cutting off exits, closing the space without urgency.
Professionals.
Clayton's mind catalogued everything in seconds.
Stances.
Breathing.
Who was nervous.
Who wasn't.
Then the crowd parted.
A man stepped forward, unhurried, shoes untouched by the filth of the alley as if the ground knew who was coming. He wore a tailored coat despite the rain, gold rings glinting faintly when lightning cracked overhead. His face was calm, almost amused.
The drug lord - Don Valley.
Clayton had seen him before.
In photographs.
In redacted files.
In places the law pretended not to look.
"So," the man said, voice smooth, cultured. "You're the one they call the case cracker."
Clayton exhaled slowly. "And you're more overdressed than your reputation suggested."
A few of the men chuckled, It died quickly.
The d lord smiled, not offended in the slightest. "Six months," he continued. "Six months of pressure. Of doors closing. Of friends suddenly forgetting my name."
He stepped closer.
"All because you don't know how to sleep."
Clayton's jaw tightened — just barely.
"You caught my supplier," the man went on. "You caught my runners. Heavens You even caught a man I was planning to dispose of myself."
He leaned in, close enough that Clayton could smell expensive cologne beneath the rain.
"But you made one mistake."
Clayton met his eyes. "Let me guess. I got too close."
The d lord's smile faded.
"No," he said softly. "You got personal."
"What?"
Then, quieter still
"You started asking about a man who died years ago. A man who should've stayed dead."
The world seemed to slow down.
Rain.
Breathing.
Fifteen heartbeats around him.
Clayton spoke carefully. "My father wasn't part of your operation."
The d lord tilted his head. "No," he agreed. "He was in the way." That was it.
Confirmation.
Clayton felt it settle in his chest,not rage, not panic,but clarity. The kind that only comes when a question you've carried for years finally has an answer.
The d lord straightened and took a step back, lifting one hand.
"Don't kill him yet," he said. "I want him to understand something first."
"Make him remember my name as D.Valley."
The men closed in.
Fists tightened.
Knuckles cracked.
Steel glinted faintly.
Clayton adjusted his coat one last time.
"…Figures," he murmured. "I was hoping you'd talk."