The city didn't resist them leaving.
It never did.
At the edge of dawn, Brine's convoy slipped through industrial backroads—headlights off, engines muted, the kind of movement meant for men who knew how to disappear. Concrete gave way to rusted fences, warehouses sagging like old secrets. The farther they drove, the thinner the city's pulse became.
Brine sat in the front seat, jaw set, eyes fixed ahead.
No Lena. No sleep. Only a tightening certainty that time was running out.
"ETA forty minutes," a man muttered into his comm.
Brine didn't answer.
Behind him, Jude leaned back against the seat, face calm, posture loose. Too loose. His eyes flicked once to the side mirror—just long enough to confirm no one was watching.
When the convoy slowed for a bend near the old canal, Jude's fingers brushed his pocket. A burner phone, hidden beneath the lining of his jacket.
One vibration. One message. Enough to burn cities.
They're moving. Tan's old supply route. Lena is there.
He sent it without a name.
Moody didn't need one.
---
Far from the road, beneath a collapsed railway overpass, Mr Luke woke to pain.
It bloomed slowly—first in his ribs, then his head, then everywhere all at once. He groaned, trying to sit up, and immediately regretted it.
"Don't," a voice said.
A girl stepped into view, no older than sixteen. Dirty sneakers. Torn hoodie. Eyes sharp enough to cut glass.
"You'll black out again."
Luke blinked. "Where…?"
"Nowhere good," she said. "But it's dry. And you were bleeding."
Memory returned in shards—hands dragging him, the maintenance corridor, darkness swallowing him whole.
"You saved me," he rasped.
She shrugged. "Didn't feel right leaving you there. Despite it, you look like a good person. Name's Finley."
Luke studied her carefully. Street-smart. Guarded. Alive because she knew how to be.
"How long?"
"Three days," she replied. "You kept talking in your sleep. Names. Threats. Sounded expensive."
Luke smiled faintly.
Good.
That meant the fire hadn't gone out.
As Finley handed him a cup of water, Luke's eyes hardened—not with pain, but resolve.
"Finley," he said quietly, "Thank you for saving me, it still means there is a lot to handle."
"What do you mean? Who are you, Mr?" She questioned, suspiciously falling right on her face."
"Don't worry about that. Ain't gonna harm you and...like you said, yes! I'm a good person." He assured her as she nodded slowly."
"How do you feel about burning powerful men to the ground?"
She hesitated.
Then she smiled, her mind predicting what he meant by "burning some men".
-----
The compound appeared suddenly—half-swallowed by trees, concrete walls disguised by vines and rot. Brine raised his fist, and the convoy halted.
"This is it," he said.
Men moved fast. Silent. Weapons ready.
Brine stepped through the rusted gate first—and stopped.
Someone was already there.
Moody stood in the courtyard like he owned the air itself, coat immaculate, hands resting casually at his sides. Around him, his men had already secured positions. Efficient. Ruthless.
Brine's lips curved into something dangerous.
"Well," he said, slow and amused. "Looks like we're early."
Moody's gaze flicked briefly over Brine's men—then back to him. "Or late."
From the shadows behind them, Mr Tan emerged.
His face went pale.
Impossible.
No one knew this place. No one but—
His eyes darted, suspiciously written all over his frozen face.
Understanding struck like ice.
"You don't have to do this Moody. " Tan whispered.
Mr Brine didn't meet his gaze.
Moody followed the look. Followed the silence. Something shifted behind his eyes.
"What do you have before i destroy everything?," he said quietly.
Before Mr Tan could answer, movement echoed deeper inside the compound.
A sound.
Not guards.
A breath caught too sharply.
Brine turned toward it instantly.
"Lena," he murmured.
Moody smiled—slow, satisfied, cruel.
"Careful," he said. "Every step you take now decides who leaves breathing."
Mr Tan's hands trembled.
For the first time since the shadows closed around him, fear wasn't a tool—
It was his.
And somewhere far away, beneath a broken bridge, Mr Luke began to plan a war that would leave no throne standing.
The match had been struck.
And the fire was finally moving.
--------
The Stack residence glowed softly under chandelier light, polished and cold, like a place where decisions were made without mercy.
Nicky sat beside her father at the long glass table, legs crossed, posture composed—too composed for someone whose heart was clawing at her ribs. A folder lay open before them. Photos. Locations. Timelines. Faces Brine cared about far more than he let on.
"This is his weakness," Mr Stack said calmly, tapping the folder once. "Not money. Not power. People."
Nicky leaned forward, eyes bright. "He won't see it coming."
"No," her father agreed. "Men like Brine never do. They believe themselves untouchable."
Across the table sat three men—investors, intermediaries, ghosts with clean suits and dirty hands. And at the far end, silent until now, sat Mr Edwin.
Older. Sharper. Watching everything without touching a thing.
Mr Stack continued, voice smooth. "We make the offer public. Controlled. Respectable. An alliance through marriage. Stability. Protection."
Nicky smiled slowly. "And if he refuses?"
Mr Stack's eyes darkened. "Then we remind him what happens when he stands alone."
A murmur of approval rippled through the room.
Everything aligned. Every variable accounted for. Every outcome is calculated.
Until—
"No."
The word cut through the room like a blade.
All eyes turned to Mr Edwin.
He hadn't raised his voice. He hadn't even shifted in his chair. But the certainty in that single word was enough to still the air.
Mr Stack frowned. "Excuse me?"
Edwin folded his hands. "I said no. This plan won't work."
Nicky's smile faltered. "You don't understand—"
"I understand Brine better than any of you in this room," Edwin interrupted calmly. "And that's exactly why I'm saying this is a mistake."
Mr Stack leaned back, irritation flickering. "You were brought here for counsel, not obstruction."
Edwin met his gaze without blinking. "Then listen to it."
Silence stretched.
"He doesn't respond to threats," Edwin continued. "Not direct ones. Not indirect ones. Not even the clever kind dressed up as offers. Pressure only sharpens him. He doesn't bend—he breaks what's pushing."
Nicky scoffed. "Everyone bends."
"No," Edwin said quietly. "Not when love is involved."
That word hung heavier than any threat.
Nicky's jaw tightened. "Love is exactly why he'll comply."
Edwin shook his head slowly. "Love is why he'll burn this house to the ground before he lets you cage him with it."
Mr Stack's eyes narrowed. "You're exaggerating."
"I'm warning you," Edwin replied. "You think you're exploiting his weakness. You're not. You're stepping into the one place where he stops thinking rationally."
He leaned forward now, voice lower.
"If you force his hand—if you touch what he protects—there will be no negotiation. No marriage. No alliance."
"What, then?" Nicky snapped. "He just walks away?"
Edwin looked at her—not unkindly, but with something close to pity.
"No," he said. "He comes for everything."
The room stayed silent.
Mr Stack broke it with a measured chuckle. "You're letting old loyalty cloud your judgment, Edwin."
Edwin stood.
"I've buried men who thought they understood Brine," he said. "Men who were smarter than you. Richer than you. Crueller than you."
Nicky rose too, anger flashing. "You're wrong."
Edwin picked up his coat. "Then pray I am."
He paused at the door, turning back once.
"One more thing," he added. "If you truly want him to choose your daughter…"
Hope flickered in Nicky's eyes.
"…you don't corner him," Edwin finished. "You let him walk into the decision believing it was his idea."
The door closed behind him.
The room exhaled.
Mr Stack stared at the empty space, jaw tight.
Nicky's hands trembled—but she clenched them into fists.
"He's wrong," she said. "He has to be."
Her father didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he slowly closed the folder.
"No," he said at last. "He's afraid."
Nicky looked up. "Of Brine?"
Mr Stack smiled thinly. "Of losing control."
And somewhere else in the city, Brine felt it—a subtle shift, like the air before a storm.
They were circling him now.
And this time, they were aiming for his heart.