The next night, Ezra found himself at Kai's apartment for the first time.
It wasn't what he expected. No velvet drapes or smoky decadence, no cliché bachelor mess. The place was clean, almost too clean—walls bare except for a single black-and-white photograph above the couch. A skyline, rain-soaked, the lights blurred into streaks.
Kai was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, cutting limes with the precision of someone who could just as easily be dismantling something far more dangerous.
"You drink?" Kai asked without looking up.
"Sometimes," Ezra said.
"Good. You'll need one."
Kai handed him a glass and moved to the couch. Ezra followed, setting the drink on the low table between them.
"Mara tells me you handled Darius' errand," Kai said.
Ezra shrugged. "Wasn't complicated."
Kai gave him a look that landed like a blade on the table. "If you think that was simple, you didn't see what was inside the case."
Ezra didn't ask. He'd learned.
Instead, he said, "Then why send me?"
Kai leaned back, studying him like a puzzle. "Because I needed to know how you'd move when you weren't being watched. Darius thinks you're raw. Mara thinks you're a liability."
Ezra's stomach tightened. "And you?"
Kai's mouth curved faintly. "I think you're still deciding what you are."
Before Ezra could answer, there was a knock at the door—three short, two long. Kai rose, his steps soundless on the hardwood.
The man who entered was tall, sharp-featured, wearing a gray suit that looked expensive but moved like armor. His eyes flicked over Ezra once before landing on Kai.
"You're late," Kai said.
"Traffic," the man replied, though his voice made it sound like the word was code for something else.
Kai introduced him without ceremony. "Ezra, this is Vincent. Vincent, Ezra."
Vincent didn't shake his hand. Instead, he turned to Kai. "The shipment's delayed. And it's not the dockworkers this time. Someone's been asking questions. The wrong someone."
Kai's jaw tensed. "Who?"
Vincent hesitated. "The Red Ivy."
Ezra didn't know the name, but Mara had mentioned it once—low voice, eyes sharp—like it was something you didn't speak aloud too often.
Kai poured another drink, his movements unhurried, but Ezra could feel the shift in the air.
"They'll try to move in," Vincent said. "First whispers, then territory."
Kai glanced at Ezra. "Looks like your education's about to accelerate."
They drove together—Kai, Vincent, and Ezra—into the industrial district, where the warehouses loomed like sleeping beasts. The air smelled of rain and oil.
Inside one of the buildings, Mara was waiting, along with two other men Ezra had never seen before. She was leaning against a stack of crates, her expression unreadable.
"They're making a play for the south docks," Mara said as soon as Kai stepped inside. "And they've got muscle. Not the cheap kind."
Vincent lit a cigarette. "We can cut them off before they set up, but we'll need to send a message."
Kai's gaze drifted to Ezra again, and Ezra felt the weight of it. "Tonight's not about fighting," Kai said. "It's about watching. Understanding where you're standing before the ground shifts."
They moved in two cars, keeping the headlights low. The docks at night felt different than in the day—emptier, yet charged with a hum of unseen activity.
Kai led them to a shadowed vantage point overlooking a cargo yard. Below, under the pale light of the floodlamps, a group of men were unloading crates from a truck. The crates bore a red symbol—a curling vine with thorns.
Red Ivy.
Ezra counted six men. All armed.
Kai didn't speak. He just watched. Ezra could see the calculations in his eyes, like a chess player mapping ten moves ahead.
Then Mara's voice, low. "Two of them aren't locals."
Kai nodded slightly. "I see them."
Vincent leaned close to Kai, murmuring something Ezra couldn't catch. Kai's reply was just as quiet, but the effect was immediate—Mara straightened, the two men with her shifting like dogs scenting prey.
Ezra's pulse was thudding in his ears now. He'd thought watching meant safety, but suddenly the air was thick with the sense that something was about to happen.
Kai turned to him. "Stay here."
Ezra wanted to argue, but the weight in Kai's voice shut him up.
From the shadows, he watched them move—Kai, Vincent, Mara—sliding down toward the yard with the kind of control that came from years of knowing exactly how far they could push without being seen.
Then it happened fast.
A shout. A burst of movement. The men below reached for weapons—too late. Mara was on one of them like a blade through water. Vincent took another down with a single blow. And Kai—Kai moved like he'd already rehearsed every angle of the fight.
It was over in less than a minute. The Red Ivy men were disarmed, one nursing a broken arm, another gasping on the ground.
Kai knelt beside the one who was still conscious. He spoke quietly, almost conversationally. Ezra couldn't hear the words, but whatever was said made the man's face drain of color.
When they came back up the hill, Kai's shirt was speckled with someone else's blood.
"Lesson three," Kai said to Ezra as they passed. "Don't confuse quiet with peace."
Back at the warehouse, they gathered around a scarred wooden table. Mara tossed a set of keys onto it.
"We've got their safehouse address," she said. "Do we move now or wait?"
Kai considered it. "We wait. Let them wonder. Fear does more work than force if you let it."
Ezra sat silent, absorbing every word.
Vincent glanced at him. "You still in, kid?"
Ezra met his gaze. "Yeah."
Kai's expression didn't change, but there was something in his eyes—something like the beginning of approval, or maybe recognition.
"Then get used to nights like this," Kai said. "They don't end until you decide where your loyalties do."
Ezra didn't answer. But in the quiet that followed, he realized that the question wasn't about loyalty to Kai.
It was about loyalty to himself.