(Flashback – One Year Ago)
The warehouse smelled like smoke and sweat.
Kieran stood shoulder to shoulder with boys barely older than him, all clad in the same black jackets marked with a red fang on the back—The Crimson Vow.
"Loyalty or nothing," their leader said, gripping a baseball bat like it was part of him. "Anyone who walks out doesn't walk far."
Kieran kept his face blank, his fists steady, even as a rival gang member knelt before them—bloodied, barely conscious.
"Teach him," the leader said, tossing the bat to Kieran.
The others watched, waiting.
Kieran stared at the weapon.
He raised it.
Swung.
But stopped an inch from the boy's head.
Silence.
The leader narrowed his eyes. "You hesitate?"
Kieran turned, his voice sharp. "He's already down."
"That's not your call."
"I'm done."
He dropped the bat.
That night, Kieran ran. Left behind everything. His reputation. His records. His name.
But the Crimson Vow never forgot a traitor.