"I''m here for my pay." My voice was steady, but exhaustion dragged at my words.


    Grady took a step closer, the lantern bobbing slightly. "Delivery go well?"


    I stared just past his shoulder, keeping my expression blank. "No problems."


    He didn''t need details. Not about the girl. Not about the chase.


    Grady grinned, eyes narrowing. "That all you got for me? Where''s the respect, huh?"


    Respect. I swallowed back the sharp retort. "Let me in. I need to report to Trigger."


    Grady took another step, his scarred face close enough that I could smell the alcohol on his breath. "You''re too confident, little rat." His hand rose, fingertips grazing my chin.


    I tensed, grip tightening on the knife handle.


    "Back off, Grady."


    The voice cut through the alley like a blade. A woman emerged from the shadows near the door, eyes sharp, stance stiff. Grady stiffened, scowling, but obeyed, stepping back into the shadows. I didn''t know her name, but I was grateful.


    She gestured. "Step forward. Arms up."


    I handed over the knife, forcing my arms behind my head as she patted me down. The cold press of a gun barrel touched the back of my skull.


    "What''s the quickest way out of this city?" she whispered.


    I answered without thinking. "A bullet to the head."


    The truth tasted bitter on my tongue. But that had always been the answer.


    The woman''s gaze softened, but only slightly. "She''s clear."


    The building had three and a half floors, and its skeletal structure was a ruin from a past life. The upper stories had caved in long ago, leaving a dangerous slope of rubble to the left—jagged beams jutted from the collapsed stone like broken ribs. I had climbed that unstable pile many times, mapping routes through the shattered cityscape while keeping a watchful eye on the shifting walls. The third floor barely remained—just a sliver of flooring and a half-collapsed stairwell that clung to the shadows. At night, it felt like the building was holding its breath, waiting to crumble further.


    I approached the door quickly, keeping my face blank despite the panic twisting inside. Criminals could smell fear, and fear meant weakness. Only the strong survived in Beggar''s End. And while I wasn''t strong, I could pretend. If they saw through my fa?ade, I wouldn''t make it out alive.


    Calm down, I repeated silently, the words looping like a chant. One more step closer. One more breath. One more heartbeat.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Trigger and I had met on an unnaturally cold night two years after The Reckoning. The city had already begun to rot by then, its bones stripped bare. The stores had been pillaged, dumpsters turned inside out, and the streets picked clean of anything edible. If there was food left, it was hidden so deep even the rats struggled to survive.


    The Enforcement delivered rations into the city during the first year but cut off supplies once the barricade around it was fortified. They forced us deeper into the city, continually shrinking its borders. Containing us made hunting and eliminating emerging Legacies easier.


    The only food I managed to find for my family was what I could hunt—mice, squirrels—anything small enough to catch but large enough to keep my little sister and mother alive for another night. Several hours into one of those hunts, I lost track of time. Darkness closed in, the temperature dropped, and the sound of distant gunfire echoed through the ruins. It wasn''t safe to be out so late. I should have known better.


    I heard his footsteps before I saw him. Light, measured, calculated.


    One hundred sixty pounds. Weak left leg. Dominant right hand. I remember the details so clearly because it was the first time I had profiled somebody wrong in the last few months. I''d been prepared to dodge a right-handed swing—so when his left fist caught my jaw instead, it shattered my expectations along with my balance.


    I hit the ground hard. His shadow loomed as he grabbed my collar and hoisted me up. I kicked out, flailing to break free, but he barely seemed to notice. Then he flipped me upside down—completely—holding me by the ankles like a caught fish. I struggled, but he held firm, expressionless as he shook me, as if searching for loose valuables.


    My small knife clattered to the ground, followed by three small rats tied to my belt. My only prize.


    Trigger stared down at me, eyes empty, calculating. Finally, he spoke. "I''m going to let you go. I will be back tomorrow for two more rats."


    His voice was cold. Detached. As if he was stating a fact.


    The next night, he returned as promised, the scent of lavender surrounding me as he pressed a hand over my mouth to keep me silent. "The rats?" he asked, calm as before. I didn''t know how he had found me.


    But I had failed at hunting that night. I mumbled that I only caught one, trembling as his eyes narrowed. He said nothing. Just sliced a thin line across my arm. Not deep, but deliberate. A message, not a punishment. Pain was a lesson.


    I thought that was the end of it, but the next morning, he returned. This time, with a strip of ragged cloth to bind the wound. I had begun to understand then. He wasn''t cruel for the sake of it—he was testing me. Measuring me. And when I didn''t break, he made me useful.


    That was how our twisted arrangement began. I was small, quiet, invisible. Perfect for the work he needed—delivery, messages, odd jobs that kept me fed and my family breathing. He paid me in scraps, just enough to keep me coming back. And when I failed, there was pain. Controlled, precise pain. Lessons.


    But Trigger never hurt me enough to keep me from working. That would be wasteful.


    His influence over the city grew with every passing month, and so did my debt to him. He was sharp, cold, methodical—a surgeon cutting out weakness wherever he found it. He didn''t waste resources. Not even broken ones.


    Now, standing before his hideout, that same fear gripped me. The scar on my arm throbbed as I traced my fingers over my watch—the one thing I had left from before my world had collapsed. The one thing he hadn''t taken.


    I kept my hands steady even as the criminals in the shadows watched. They smelled fear. They pounced on weakness. But Trigger''s lessons echoed in my mind.


    Show nothing. Be nothing.


    I wasn''t brave. I was just a coward who knew how to hide it.


    One more step closer. One more night of survival.


    And whatever came next, I would endure.


    Because I had no choice.


    I pushed open the door.