The rain came without warning, turning the quiet streets into silver rivers. Kian Soriano sat under the eaves of his family's closed café, headphones on, sketching strangers who passed by.
At first, he thought the sound was just the rain. Then he heard it — fast footsteps, splashing through puddles.
A boy sprinted into view. He was barefoot, shirt clinging to his frame, hair plastered to his face. His eyes — wide and frantic — locked on Kian's for half a second before flicking over his shoulder.
Three men in black jackets followed, their pace deliberate, their voices low but urgent.
Kian's pencil froze.
The boy stumbled, catching himself on the café's wooden post. "Don't," he whispered when Kian started to stand. "Please. Pretend you didn't see me."
Before Kian could answer, one of the men shouted. The boy bolted again — but not before slipping something small and cold into Kian's hand.
It was a silver key.
"Kian," a voice called from inside the café — his older sister. But when he looked back at the street, the boy was gone. Only the rain remained… and the men, now staring straight at him.
One of them smiled. "Evening. Have you seen a boy run by?"
Kian tightened his fist around the key. "No," he lied.
The man's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Then you won't mind if we stick around… just in case he comes back."
Kian swallowed. He had no idea who that boy was — but he was sure of one thing.
He'd just stepped into something dangerous.