In the dim, flickering light five figures sat around a table in the center of a cramped, one-story house wedged between two abandoned buildings in Fallenerdes' outer district.
Teres Fig, a man in his late forties with deep lines across his face and a long scar that split his lip, stood at the head of the table with one hand planted on its surface.
"We start now. This is our first official meeting. No more messing around. We've got a name, we've got a plan,, and I'm leading us to real money. Real power."
The other four around the table clapped quietlyly but excitedlyly.
Teres nodded with satisfaction, then gestured around the room.
We are five. That's not much. But five is enough to start. We don't need soldiers;; we need hunters. If we bring in money, the rest will follow. Greed always recruits."
He turned toward the only woman at the table,, a red-haired woman lounging in her chair, one boot up, her fingers absently twirling a small blade.
"Salya," Teres said. "Any luck with your little 'charm game'? Find us a rich lamb to skin?"
Salya lifted her bright green eyes and grinned.
"Not yet," she said, her voice sing-song and playful.
"Daytime's full of rats and stallboys. Rich ones don't walk around when the sun's out. But now?" She chuckled.
"Night makes fools bold and smart men careless. I'll find someone."
"You better," Teres said, though not unkindly.
"Someone soft-looking. Someone alone. Someone new."
Salya raised her hands in mock surrender.
"You'll have your fool, boss. Just make sure your boys are ready to cut."
Teres shifted his gaze across the table to the two younger men,, both in their early twenties.
One wore a sleeveless leather vest over tight bandages on his arms; the other wore a plain hoodie with metal knuckles poking from his pocket.
"Dren, Mico," Teres said.
"You're on sweep tonight. We need cash. Doesn't matter how. We've got five mouths and no food. Start with the main market lane, then fan out to the south alleys."
Dren, the one in the vest, cracked his knuckles and nodded.
"You got it, boss. Easy prey out there after sundown."
"Drunks, travelers, and and lovebirds too stupid to stay indoors," Mico added.
"No killing unless you have to," Teres warned.
"Bodies bring attention,, and attention brings authorities and well-prepared police. We're not ready for that yet."
Both young men gave short nods and stood efore heading out into the city's night.
As the door clicked behind them, Teres leaned back against the wall and exhaled.
They were nothing right now.
A handful of bottom-feeders.
But with every stolen purse, with every frightened traveler, they would build something.
Salya rose, smoothed down her leather coat, and headed for the door next.
"Give me two hours," she said with a wink. "If I don't find someone rich, I'll at least bring someone stupid."
Teres gave a nod.
"Don't get sloppy."
"I never do."
The door shut behind her with a faint creak.
Now, only Teres and another thirty-year-old man remained inside.
He looked at the man and then nodded.
"These guys are not the best,, but they will do for now," the thirty-year-old man said.
Teres nodded and let out a deep breath as the man got up and left too.
Teres wasn't dumb. He knew how thin the line was between street crime and public execution in this world.
"But if we stay low, move fast, and only take the desperate or alone… we'll survive."
He folded the poster and slid it away, then leaned his head back, resting against the wall.
The house was silent again.
But outside?
Outside, the city pulsed with opportunity.
Two Blocks Away – South Walk, Market Lane
Dren and Mico moved through the thinning crowd like sharks.
"There," Mico murmured, nudging his friend.
A lone man stood by a noodle cart, fumbling through his pockets.
"Too close to the vendor."
They walked on.
Another corner.
A hunched traveler with a bulging backpack.
Dren moved toward him only for the man to lift his head and reveal a full facial tattoo and a handgun.
"Shit," Dren muttered, immediately turning.
"Damn," Mico whispered. "We need better luck."
Messing with someone who is carrying a gun is not the best idea and not the best target.
Then, both their heads turned at once.
Across the street as a young man in a black coat, moving with a calm, confident pace.
Not rushing.
Not looking over his shoulder.
Just moving.
Easy, Mico thought.
Quiet walker, Dren agreed in silence.
They didn't know that the man they they weree targeting was not a prey but a predator.
They didn't know he was Arin Walker.
They just saw a target.
And that would be their mistake.