John didn’t waste time.

  Cain’s people were watching him. That meant they saw something valuable in him.

  But what?

  John didn’t have answers yet. But he knew where to start looking.

  Cain’s network ran through every level of the city. From the corrupt elite in the upper districts to the enforcers who ruled the streets.

  But the real power?

  It was in the places no one talked about.

  The hidden operations. The underground markets. The places where people disappeared.

  John’s plan was simple—find one of those places and see what Cain was really up to.

  And he already had a lead.

  It was a shipping depot in the industrial sector, far enough from the main streets that most people never even noticed it.

  But John had been watching.

  The shipments didn’t match the manifests. Workers came in at odd hours, but none of them ever left together. And most importantly—Vance had been there.

  That was all John needed.

  This was a Cain operation.

  Which meant it was the perfect place to start digging.

  John spent the day watching the routine.

  There were cameras, but they were old models, easy to predict.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  The security was tight, but not impossible.

  The best part? They weren’t expecting someone like him.

  By the time midnight hit, John was already inside.

  He moved fast, keeping to the shadows, slipping past the patrols like he belonged there. Silent. Unseen. A ghost in the making.

  The deeper he went, the more uneasy he became.

  The warehouse was too quiet.

  No machinery. No workers moving shipments.

  Just empty crates stacked high, rows of metal shelves stretching into the darkness.

  John’s gut told him something was very, very wrong.

  And then—

  He heard it.

  A voice. Muffled. Weak.

  Coming from the other side of the storage racks.

  John’s heart pounded as he crept closer.

  Someone was here.

  Someone who wasn’t supposed to be.

  The sound led him to a metal door, slightly ajar.

  John hesitated, listening.

  A quiet cough. A strained breath.

  Someone inside.

  He pushed the door open just enough to see—

  And his stomach dropped.

  The room was small, barely big enough for a desk and a chair.

  And in that chair, tied up, bruised, and barely conscious—

  Was a boy.

  Younger than John. Maybe twelve.

  His wrists were bound, his face was pale, and his left eye was swollen shut.

  John felt something cold settle in his chest.

  This wasn’t just a hidden operation.

  This was something else.

  Something worse.

  John didn’t hesitate.

  He stepped inside, moving fast, crouching down next to the kid.

  "Hey," he whispered. "You awake?"

  A weak groan. The kid’s head lolled slightly, eyes barely opening.

  John’s jaw tightened. He didn’t have time.

  "Can you walk?"

  The kid blinked slowly, as if trying to process the question.

  "…Don’t know," he mumbled.

  John exhaled. Didn’t matter.

  They were getting out of here.

  But before he could move—

  A voice came from behind him.

  "That’s far enough."

  John’s blood ran cold.

  He turned slowly, already calculating.

  Two men stood in the doorway. Armed.

  One was older, with a scar running down his cheek. The other was younger, bulkier, his stance too rigid—new to this kind of work.

  John kept his expression neutral.

  "Didn’t think you guys needed security for a storage room," he said.

  The older man didn’t smile. "You made a mistake coming here, kid."

  John’s mind raced. No good escape routes. No weapons.

  And a half-conscious kid to protect.

  Not ideal.

  John slowly raised his hands. "Alright. Let’s talk."

  The older man took a step forward. "No. Let’s not."

  His hand moved toward his weapon—

  And John moved first.