"Midnight," Garrick had said.
The clock tower in the distance struck twelve times, its rusty bells echoing through the tunnels.
I stood before the heavy iron gates of the warehouse near the Great Elevator. This place was guarded by the "Grey Dogs," the private militia that kept order in The Bottom.
My task was suicide: Enter, steal a bottle of Moon Wine, and leave without being seen.
"Hey, did you hear something?" one guard grumbled, adjusting his helmet.
I froze behind a crate of rotten fish. My heart pounded against my ribs like a war drum.
Calm down, I told myself. If they catch me, I'm dead.
I looked at my hands. I couldn't fight them. They had crossbows and armor. I had to be a ghost.
I remembered Garrick's first piece of advice: "Shadows aren't just lack of light. They are places where people refuse to look."
I waited.
The guard yawned. That was my window. Three seconds.
I didn't run. I moved low, matching the rhythm of the dripping water pipes. Drip... Step. Drip... Step.
I slipped through a crack in the wall, squeezing my skinny body until my ribs scraped against the stone.
Inside, the smell of expensive alcohol was dizzying.
There it was. On the top shelf. A blue bottle glowing faintly. "Moon Wine."
I climbed the shelves silently. My fingers brushed the cold glass.
I grabbed it.
Suddenly, the door creaked open. The Captain walked in.
"I swear I heard a rat in here."
I pressed myself against the ceiling beams, holding my breath until my lungs burned.
The Captain looked around, his eyes passing right over me in the darkness.
"Must be my imagination." He grabbed an apple from a barrel and left.
I exhaled.
I had done it.
An hour later, back in the sewers.
Garrick took the bottle from my trembling hands. He didn't say "Good job" or "Well done."
He simply uncorked it with his teeth and took a long swig.
"Aaah... tastes like corruption."
He wiped his mouth and looked at me with his blind eyes.
"You made noise three times. You held your breath too loud. And you smell like fear."
He raised his cane.
"But... you came back alive."
He tossed the empty bottle aside and stood up.
"Now, drink some sewer water to hydrate. We start physical conditioning. If you vomit, you clean it up."
That night, I learned that hell wasn't fire and brimstone. Hell was doing push-ups in knee-deep sludge while a drunk old man hit you with a stick every time your back sagged.
But for the first time in my life... I had a purpose.