Evidence of Us.

11

Louis's boots splashed through the shallow pools of rainwater as he strode down the dimly lit street, his black coat slicked with droplets, mingling with the faint smears of blood. The crimson splashes on his collar and cuffs were subtle but unmistakable—a trace of the work he'd just completed, the final proof that the job was done. No mistakes, no hesitation. Perfect, as always.

He moved with a calm precision, his mind steady, his breathing controlled, even as the rain poured harder around him, washing the last traces of his crime from his coat. This was just another night, just another mark. The weight of it barely registered anymore, leaving only a numbness that settled deeper with each job.

As a child, Louis had been filled with emotions, overflowing with them—always feeling too much, always seeing too much. He was sensitive, tender-hearted, the kind of kid who cried at sad movies and couldn't bear to see others hurt. But as he watched his parents slip further and further into their addictions, saw them destroy themselves day by day with drugs, something inside him changed. He hardened. The sensitivity he once felt faded, replaced by a numbness that protected him from the pain of it all.

He grew up learning to shut out his emotions, to bury them so deeply that even he forgot they existed. It was a survival mechanism. One he honed until he was as cold and unfeeling as the world around him. And in the twisted logic of his life, that numbness made him perfect for his job. It was why Keam had chosen him—he had no attachments, no hesitation, nothing left to lose. He was cold, calculating, and unbreakable.

But sometimes, in the quiet moments, he remembered the kid he used to be—the one who felt too much and cared too deeply. And for just a fleeting second, he'd wonder if any part of that kid was still there. Then, he'd lock those thoughts away, telling himself it didn't matter. Not anymore.

Louis lit up a cigarette, the flare of the lighter casting a brief, warm glow against the cold night. He took a long drag, letting the smoke fill his lungs, mixing with the damp air and the memories he usually fought to ignore. The rain poured down around him, but he didn't care. He barely felt it.

His mind wandered back to a time he despised, a time he'd tried to leave behind. Childhood was a blur of bruises, dirty clothes, and nights spent alone, waiting for his parents to come home, though he never really wanted them to. His mother was a prostitute, his father... well, a "client" of some kind. That was how they met, as he understood it. Somewhere along the way, they'd had him—a mistake that, in their minds, ruined their so-called "perfect" lives. He was a burden, a reminder of what they didn't want, and most of the time, it was as if he didn't even exist. But there were nights when he existed too much. Nights when his father's anger found a target. Louis learned early that love was conditional, that attention was pain, and that if he wanted to survive, he had to be invisible. And he got good at it. He became small, quiet, shut off. He learned to hide every feeling, to build walls around himself until nothing touched him.

He flicked ash into the street, the red tip of the cigarette glowing in the darkness. It was those years that had prepared him for this life.

As the years passed and Louis reached his teenage years, he slipped further into the same shadows his parents had lived in. He drank, used drugs, and drifted through each day in a haze, mimicking the only life he knew. School had never been an option for him, and any thoughts of a future outside his parents' world faded before they even began. He was trapped in their cycle, surviving rather than living.

It wasn't long before he learned how to make his own way in that world. He started small, dealing to local junkies, moving drugs in exchange for cash or a fleeting sense of control. That was when he met Zayn—a kid who'd shown up one night with a silent, defiant confidence that caught Louis's attention. Louis saw potential in him, a kind of kindred spirit, someone with the same survival instincts that had kept him alive. Deciding to take Zayn under his wing, Louis began to build his own crew. They started out small, but together, they were fearless, rising through the ranks until they controlled their own corner of the city.