Ash moved.
One second the alley was empty.
The next, the skinny guy was slammed back-first into the wall.
The impact knocked the air out of him. Before a sound could escape, Ash was already there—one hand clamped over his mouth, sealing it shut, the other pressing hard against his throat. Not crushing. Not messy. Just enough to cut the air.
The skinny guy's eyes blew wide.
Panic hit instantly.
His hands clawed at Ash's wrist, nails scraping uselessly against skin. His legs kicked once, twice, boots scraping concrete, but there was nowhere to run—nowhere to move. The wall was cold and unforgiving at his back. Ash was iron in front of him.
No sound came out.
Only muffled gasps that went nowhere.
His chest burned.
Vision started to blur.
He locked eyes with Ash.
Begging—raw and desperate—poured out of them. Please. Don't. I won't say anything. I'll do anything. Tears welled, spilling down his cheeks as his strength drained away.
Ash watched it all.
Calm.
Unmoved.
A slow smile crept onto his face—not wide, not cruel. Just… certain.
The rabbit-toothed guy slowed to a stop.
Something was wrong.
His footsteps echoed alone now—too alone. He turned, expecting to see the skinny guy fumbling behind him, breathing too loud, jumping at shadows.
Nothing.
The alley behind him was empty.
"Hey…?" he called, forcing his voice to sound steady.
No answer.
A knot formed in his chest. He walked back a few steps, eyes scanning the ground, the walls, the dark corners. No sign of him. No sound. No movement.
Where the hell did he go?
His first thought was irritation. Did that idiot run back?
But the idea died almost instantly.
No. That didn't fit.
The skinny guy was a scaredy cat—no way he'd turn around and go back alone. Not in this place. Not tonight.
The rabbit-toothed guy swallowed.
Is he messing with me?
A prank?
The thought didn't sit right either. This wasn't the time. And the skinny guy wasn't that brave.
A chill crept up his spine.
His eyes flicked to the shadows. Then to the rooftops. Then back to the alley ahead. His mind started throwing out darker possibilities.
Did something grab him?
Did he fall?
Was there… someone else here?
A stupid thought crossed his mind, unwanted and sharp.
A ghost?
He shook his head hard, annoyed at himself. "Get a grip," he muttered.
Ash didn't even cross his mind—not really. It didn't make sense. He hadn't seen anyone. The alley had been empty seconds ago. No footsteps. No struggle. Nothing.
No one was there.
And yet…
The silence felt heavier now. Closer.
The rabbit-toothed guy licked his lips, heart starting to pound, and took a slow step back—eyes never leaving the darkness where his friend should have been.
The big guy and the bearded man ran back the way they'd come.
Their boots pounded against the stone, splashing through shallow puddles, breath coming out ragged and uneven. The bearded man led by half a step, moving a little faster, his longer stride eating up the distance. Even so, the big guy didn't fall behind. Despite his bulky frame, his pace was solid, powerful—muscle driving him forward without hesitation.
They didn't slow.
Both kept their heads moving, eyes sharp, scanning every corner, every doorway, every stretch of shadow as they ran. Left. Right. Ahead. Above. No blind trust in the dark. Not now. Not after everything.
The alley blurred past them—brick walls, flickering light, dripping water—each familiar landmark tightening the unease crawling in their chests. Something felt off. Neither said it out loud, but they both felt it.
Did we miss something?
Did he pass us without us knowing?
Their breathing grew heavier, chests burning, but they pushed through it. Fear and urgency kept their legs moving when exhaustion tried to bite.
Finally, they reached it.
The spot where they had split up earlier.
The intersection of alleys lay ahead, quiet and empty, just as it had been before—but now the silence felt wrong. Thicker. Loaded.
They slowed to a stop, breaths harsh, sweat clinging to their skin, eyes sweeping the place where everything had started to go wrong.
There, sprawled near the wall, they found him.
The man Ash had beaten earlier was slumped against the bricks, head tilted to the side, breathing slow and deep—sleeping. Peacefully. Like the world hadn't just turned upside down.
For a second, both of them just stared.
Then irritation flared hot and ugly.
They had been running their asses off through half the district, lungs burning, nerves shot—and this bastard was asleep.
The big guy closed the distance in two strides.
SLAP.
Both of his hands cracked across the man's cheeks at once, loud enough to echo down the alley. The sound bounced off the walls, sharp and brutal, leaving instant red marks blooming on the man's face.
The wounded guy jolted awake with a choked gasp. Panic flooded him before his eyes even opened. He shrank in on himself, hands coming up weakly as he begged, voice breaking.
"I—I'm sorry! Please… please leave me! I won't do it again!"
He squeezed his eyes shut tight, body trembling, convinced the beating had started all over again.
That only made it worse.
The big guy's face twisted in disgust. Anger flared brighter—this wasn't fear, this was pathetic.
SLAP.
SLAP.
Two more blows landed hard, snapping the man's head from side to side.
"Open your eyes, you damn idiot!" the big guy roared.
The alley rang with the echo, and the man whimpered, finally forcing his eyes open, tears streaking down his bruised face as he realized—too late—that Ash wasn't the one standing over him anymore.
The bearded man stepped forward and spat straight onto his face.
"Pathetic excuse of a man."
The spit slid down the wounded guy's cheek, mixing with sweat and dried blood. He didn't wipe it away. He didn't even flinch.
Embarrassment burned deeper than the pain. His face heated, eyes dropping to the ground as if he could disappear into the dirt beneath him. He didn't stop to think why they were treating him like this. Didn't question how it had become his fault that Ash was still free.
Why should he?
If they couldn't find Ash, then someone had to take the blame. And someone weak was always the easiest target.
That was how it worked.
He told himself he deserved it. For losing. For being useless. For not doing better. The thought settled heavy in his chest, crushing any spark of resentment before it could form.
So he stayed silent.
Head bowed. Shoulders slumped.
Accepting every word, every blow, every insult—as if it was punishment long overdue.
They knew they were wasting time here. Beating him more wouldn't change anything. Ash was still out there.
No one said a word for a moment.
Then the big guy exhaled sharply and turned away. "Enough," he growled. "This is going nowhere."
He looked back at the wounded man, eyes cold. "Go back."
The man flinched.
"Tell the leader what happened here," the big guy continued. "Everything." His jaw tightened. "And tell him to send a few more men if he can. We need more eyes on the streets."
The wounded guy nodded quickly, almost desperately. "Y-yes… I'll tell him."
"Move," the big guy snapped.
The man didn't wait for another word. He pushed himself up, body aching, and staggered away into the dark, relieved just to be dismissed.
The big guy watched him go, then glanced at the bearded man. His expression darkened, unease creeping in.
"I feel like something's wrong," he said. "We should move faster."
The bearded man nodded, eyes hard. "Yeah. Me too. I just hope they can keep their ground till we get there."
Ash choked the skinny guy even harder.
A slow, quiet joy settled in him—payback. This idiot had ruined his peaceful night, and now he was returning the favor.
Ash leaned closer, his breath brushing the skinny guy's ear. The sudden closeness made the man shudder.
Ash whispered, "Any last words?"
The skinny guy tried to answer with his eyes, blinking rapidly, desperately—trying to say yes.
Ash scoffed. "Nah. I don't need to listen to dead people, do I?"
His grip tightened fully.
The moment the words sank in, the skinny guy's eyes widened in disbelief. He couldn't accept it—he was really going to die. Anger flared for a split second. If Ash wasn't going to listen, then why give him hope at all?
But fear drowned it out.
Fear was stronger than anger.
Ash wasn't going to kill him.
He never planned to.
If he could avoid blood on his hands, he would. Killing was a line he didn't cross unless there was no other choice. And this—this didn't require it.
The pressure on the skinny guy's throat increased just enough.
His struggles weakened. The clawing hands lost strength, fingers twitching instead of gripping. His chest convulsed, desperate for air that wouldn't come. A dull ringing filled his ears, loud enough to drown out everything else.
The alley blurred.
The edges of his vision darkened, closing in like a tightening tunnel. Panic tried to scream, but his body wouldn't listen anymore. His thoughts scattered, slipping through his grasp one by one.
Then his eyes rolled back.
The last thing he felt was the cold wall against his spine…
and then nothing.
His body went limp in Ash's hands.
Unconscious.
Ash loosened his grip.
The skinny guy slid down the wall, his body dragging slowly, leaving faint scrape marks as gravity took over. Ash stayed close, guiding him just enough so the fall wouldn't make noise. The man's legs gave out, and he collapsed onto the ground, unconscious, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.
Ash watched him for a heartbeat longer—making sure he wouldn't move.
Then—
His head snapped to the right.
Footsteps.
Closing in.
Not rushed. Not panicked.
Measured. Heavy.
Tap.
Tap.
The sound echoed faintly through the alley, each step landing closer than the last.
Someone was coming.