The city never slept, but it wasn’t alive either. It was a machine—cold, relentless, and uncaring. The towering skyscrapers, covered in flickering neon ads and digital billboards, pulsed like artificial veins pumping false promises into the air. The streets below, however, were another story.

  New Eden’s lower districts—if one could even call them that—were where the unwanted collected. The forgotten, the desperate, the ones who had slipped through the cracks of society’s carefully curated facade.

  And among them was John.

  He moved like a ghost through the crowded streets, unseen, unnoticed. The worn-out hoodie he wore was pulled over his head, the frayed fabric barely shielding him from the cold drizzle that fell from the sky. His stomach ached, but he ignored it. Hunger was just another part of life, like the stench of uncollected trash or the dull hum of malfunctioning streetlights.

  He was used to it.

  John was fourteen. Not that it mattered. Time didn’t mean much when every day was the same: survive, avoid trouble, find something to eat, and disappear before someone decided you were a problem.

  He had learned the rules of the streets early. Don’t attract attention. Don’t trust anyone. And never owe anyone a favor.

  The last one was the most important.

  Debts got people killed down here.

  Tonight was worse than usual. The rain had driven more people into the narrow alleys, all of them seeking shelter that didn’t exist. John had spent most of the day picking through dumpsters behind the market district, but he’d been too late. Someone else had already gone through them.

  He clenched his jaw. Bad luck. Again.

  His fingers curled inside the pockets of his hoodie. He wasn’t weak. He wasn’t some helpless kid. But there were times when the weight of it all—the hunger, the cold, the endless cycle of barely making it through the day—felt like it would crush him.

  But it never did.

  Because John refused to break.

  He exhaled, forcing the exhaustion to the back of his mind. There was still one place he could check.

  The market never really closed, even when it should have. It existed in a strange limbo between legal and illegal, run by people who didn’t care about regulations as long as money changed hands.

  John didn’t have money, but he had something better: quick hands and a good eye.

  He kept to the shadows, watching as a vendor unloaded a crate of packaged food, setting it beside his cart. Unattended. Just for a second.

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  That was all John needed.

  He stepped forward, fast but controlled—no wasted movements. His fingers brushed against the crate, closing around one of the packages. One smooth motion, no hesitation—

  A hand clamped around his wrist.

  John reacted instantly, twisting his arm and pulling back, but the grip was like iron. His hood fell away as he stumbled backward, and he looked up—

  Straight into the cold, calculating eyes of Orson Vance.

  John had never met Vance personally, but he knew who he was. Everyone did.

  Vance wasn’t a cop. Cops still had rules, even if they were corrupt. Vance worked for Cain, the man who controlled everything in the city’s underbelly. He was one of Cain’s enforcers, a problem solver—which meant that if you saw him, you were the problem.

  John swallowed hard, his mind already working through his options.

  Run? No. The grip on his wrist was too strong.

  Fight? Even worse idea.

  Lie? Maybe. But what kind of lie would work on a man like Vance?

  “Didn’t know Cain’s dogs were working security now,” John said, keeping his voice steady.

  Vance smirked, but his eyes remained sharp, studying John like a puzzle he was trying to solve. “You’ve got guts, kid.”

  John didn’t answer. He just waited.

  He had learned something important about people like Vance: They didn’t hurt you because they were angry. They hurt you because they could.

  So John did the only thing he could. He gave him nothing.

  Vance let out a slow exhale, then suddenly let go. “Relax, kid. I’m not gonna kill you over a meal.”

  John flexed his wrist, ignoring the lingering ache. He didn’t believe him.

  Not for a second.

  “But,” Vance continued, his voice smooth and almost amused, “I do have an offer for you.”

  John knew better than to answer immediately. Nothing in this city came for free.

  Instead, he raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

  Vance nodded toward the side alley. “Walk with me.”

  John didn’t move.

  Vance chuckled. “Smart. Good. But you’re already dead if I wanted you to be, so let’s not pretend you have a choice.”

  John clenched his jaw.

  He hated it. Hated being backed into a corner. Hated being forced into someone else’s game.

  But he also knew when he had no options.

  So, without a word, he followed Vance into the alley.

  They stopped near a stack of old shipping crates, away from the main street. The neon lights didn’t reach here. It felt like the edge of the world.

  Vance leaned against one of the crates, arms crossed. “You’re sharp, fast, and you don’t scare easy.”

  John said nothing.

  Vance smirked. “I need someone to run an errand for me. Something simple.”

  John narrowed his eyes. It was never simple.

  “Not interested.”

  Vance laughed. “You haven’t even heard what it is yet.”

  John shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t work for people like you.”

  Vance tilted his head, studying him. “And yet you live in my city. Eat in my streets. Breathe my air.”

  John stayed silent, his hands curling into fists.

  Vance continued, voice calm. “I’m not asking you to kill someone, kid. I just need a package delivered. No one gets hurt.”

  John didn’t trust him. But refusing outright might be worse.

  So he asked the only question that mattered.

  “What’s the catch?”

  Vance’s smirk widened. “No catch. Just don’t open the package.”

  John didn’t like it.

  But he needed to eat.

  And for now, that meant playing along.

  “…Fine.”

  Vance nodded, pleased. “Smart choice.”

  He reached into his coat and pulled out a small, black case. Unmarked. Heavy.

  John took it carefully, trying not to let the weight of it bother him.

  “You have until sunrise,” Vance said. “Don’t be late.”

  John didn’t answer. He just turned and walked away.

  But as he disappeared into the city’s shadows, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had just made a very, very dangerous mistake.