The northern harbor of Grimoir City was a graveyard of shadows that night. Wind slithered through broken crates and rusted chains, carrying the sting of salt and something colder. Inside a cramped storage chamber by the docks, two figures sat in the dim light: a man dressed in black, and a boy no older than ten, his eyes glowing a muted red in the darkness.
The silence between them was heavy, broken only by the whisper of waves brushing against the pier.
The boy's clothes were thin, patched in places, the kind worn by someone who outgrew survival long before he outgrew childhood. He stared at the bench between them — a thick stack of money, and a single photograph that held his attention more than the cash ever could.
"Hmm?" His small fingers brushed the edge of the photo. "Who's this?"
"You don't need to know names," the man replied, voice clipped. "You're here for one thing, kid. Do the job I give you."
