Luke, now known as Lance, worked tirelessly, sweat dripping from his brow as he pushed a cart of materials through the streets of Bckwater City. Ahead of him, a group of kids—just like him—bored under the weight of survival. Some were abandoned, others had lost their families and homes. All of them took whatever jobs they could to scrape by.

  But unlike them, Lance had a roof over his head and enough food to keep his stomach full. He didn’t keep a single coin, though—everything he earned went straight to Wayne.

  As the sun dipped below the horizon, Lance let out a sigh. Another day done.

  He entered the hideout through the back door and immediately spotted Lair arriving around the same time. Their eyes met. Lair gritted his teeth and turned away.

  Lance knew he wasn’t to bme for Lair losing his heirloom. He had nothing to do with it. But that didn’t stop Lair from seething. And it didn’t stop Lance from feeling the anger build in his gut at the other boy’s antics.

  Still, he let it go. He turned toward his makeshift hammock and y down.

  ---

  In the dead of night, Lance’s eyes snapped open. A noise—soft, deliberate—coming from his side.

  The darkness swallowed the room, making it impossible to see who was there. Instinct kicked in. He pushed himself up from the hammock, knife in hand.

  “Don’t come any closer,” he warned, voice low, steady. “I’ll cut you open.”

  Footsteps approached, slow but determined. Then, through a gap in the roof, a sliver of moonlight slipped in, illuminating a face.

  Lair.

  Bloodshot eyes. A knife in his shaking hand.

  “You bastard,” Lair growled. “You stole my only connection to my father!”

  He lunged, arm raised, grip on the knife weak.

  Lance reacted instantly, stepping back to create space—but his back hit the wall with a dull thud, rattling the wooden beams.

  Lair wasn’t stopping. He closed in, wild and desperate.

  Lance shifted forward, but his foot caught on something. His bance wavered.

  Lair lunged.

  Lance drove his knife forward.

  The bde sank into Lair’s chest.

  A sharp gasp. Lair staggered, eyes wide in shock. He colpsed onto his back. The knife was still buried deep.

  A final, ragged breath. Then—silence.

  Lance’s legs gave out. He slid down the wall, breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts.

  ‘Why did this bastard attack me? I never took anything from him.’

  But it didn’t matter. The only one who could answer was dead.

  His vision blurred as hot tears slipped down his face. He didn’t want to kill him. But he had no choice.

  ---

  Morning came.

  Wayne stepped into the room, his gaze nding on Lair’s lifeless body. Lance was still sitting against the wall, staring bnkly at the ceiling.

  Wayne sighed. “Not again.”

  He wasn’t disturbed by the corpse—just irritated that he had to deal with another mess.

  With a few sharp orders, he had a couple of guys drag Lair’s body away, along with the worthless junk the boy had collected. Just like that, it was over.

  Wayne stood over Lance, studying him. Then, a smirk.

  “So, the little idiot actually fell for a lie? Tch. Not that I care.”

  He grabbed Lance’s wrist and yanked him to his feet.

  “You’ve got work to do. But after your shift, come see me. I think I’ve got something… good for you.” He eyed the bloodstained floor. “After seeing your handiwork, I’m sure you’ll be interested.”

  With that, Wayne walked off.