"I don't do shit halfway, sweetheart. You step in my flames, you'll burn to ashes!"
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The Kings of the underworld are in a bit of a predicament; their rule over the city is challenged as an old enemy...
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A sacrifice to be real must cost, must hurt and must empty ourselves. ~ Mother Teressa ______________
10 years ago, South Korea, Jose
The abandoned subway station reeked of damp concrete and rust, a place that hadn't seen a train in decades. José moved silently across the cracked platform, careful not to disturb the puddles that mirrored the flickering fluorescent lights above. Every shadow seemed alive, stretching long and uncertain along the graffiti-streaked walls.
He had chosen this place because it was invisible. Forgotten. Perfect for meetings that couldn't leave a trace. His parents' empire, the one he had spent years trying to outrun, was a continent away from this station, but the ghosts of that world followed him in every heartbeat, in every careful step.
Marcella emerged from the shadows, moving with the controlled grace of someone who had lived too long in the darkness, every motion deliberate, every glance cautious. Her coat hung low, concealing her frame, but there was no mistaking the presence she carried, the kind that made danger tangible even when she didn't speak.
José nodded once, just enough to acknowledge her. She returned the gesture, a subtle dip of her head that said more than words could. They moved to opposite ends of the platform, each keeping just enough distance to stay unseen from anyone who might wander through.
The abandoned station was silent except for the dripping of water down the rusted steel beams. Marcella stood close now, her face pale in the cold fluorescent glow, eyes burning with a kind of reckless clarity José had seen only a handful of times before, always right before something disastrous, or brilliant, or both.
He didn't wait, he crossed the space between them in a few long strides and pulled her into a quick, fierce hug. She was stiff for a moment, then relaxed just enough for him to feel the exhaustion in her body.
"Dios mío, Loca," he muttered against her hair, his voice tight with worry. "You vanished. One day you're Bureau golden girl, the next you're a ghost. You tied down your own uncle, stole classified files, walked out like it was nothing, do you have any idea what kind of hell you've unleashed?"
When he pulled back, his eyes searched hers, desperate for an explanation, something sane.
Marcella's lips twitched into a humorless smile.
"Sanity is a luxury I don't have anymore."
He shook his head, dragging a hand down his face.
"I swear, you're going to get yourself killed one day."
"About that," Her gaze hardened, all trace of softness gone. "We need to talk."
The silence pressed in heavy around them. The dripping water, the echo of their breathing, it all felt magnified in the hollow space.
