Cager didn't wait for my answer.
She turned on her heel and walked, confident I'd follow. I did. Because when someone like her gives you an opening, you take it—or you die standing still.
We moved deeper into the alley, past rusted dumpsters and dripping pipes, until the noise thinned out. The Creepers faded into silhouettes behind smoke and firelight. Here, the darkness felt intentional, like it was curated. Claimed.
Cager stopped beneath a flickering lamp that buzzed like it might give up at any second. She faced me fully now.
"Talk," she said.
I lifted my hands slowly, palms open. "I'm not here to cause trouble."
"That's what trouble always says."
Fair enough.
"I'm being hunted," I continued. "By people who don't miss. I need someone who understands knives. Someone who can teach me how to survive them… or use them."
Her eyes narrowed. "Teach?" she repeated. "You don't look like the type who lasts long enough to learn."
I met her stare, even though every instinct screamed at me to look away. "I don't need to last long. Just long enough."
That earned me a pause. A real one. Cager circled me slowly, boots crunching over broken glass. I felt her gaze tracing my outline, reading every weakness I hadn't learned to hide yet.
"Who's after you?" she asked.
I hesitated.
Her knife appeared at my throat so fast I didn't even see her draw it. Cold metal kissed my skin.
"Hesitation," she said calmly, "gets people skinned in this part of town."
I swallowed. "The Black Saints."
The name landed heavy between us.
Even the alley seemed to stiffen.
Cager stepped back, blade lowering but not disappearing. "You've got guts," she said. "Or a death wish."
"Maybe both."
She studied me for a long moment, then laughed—short, sharp, humorless. "You know what they do to people who cross them?"
"I know what they did to my brother."
That stopped her.
The laughter vanished. Her expression shifted—not softer, but sharper. Focused.
"They didn't just kill him," I went on. "They made an example out of him. Left him where everyone could see. Like a warning."
Cager exhaled slowly through her nose. "Revenge," she said. "That's expensive."
"I don't have money," I admitted. "But I have information. Routes. Names. Schedules."
She tilted her head. "You're either very useful… or very dead."
She turned and motioned for me to follow again.
This time, we didn't stop in the alley.
She led me through a rusted door disguised as part of the brick wall. Inside was a narrow stairwell that smelled like oil and old blood. We descended, the light fading with every step, until we reached a room lit by hanging bulbs and candle stubs.
Knives lined the walls.
Hundreds of them.
Some were pristine. Others were chipped, stained, clearly used. Each one told a story I wasn't sure I wanted to hear.
"This is where I work," Cager said. "And where people either learn… or bleed."
She grabbed a knife from the wall and tossed it to me.
I barely caught it.
"Hold it."
I did.
"Wrong," she snapped, stepping forward and correcting my grip with ruthless precision. "You don't grip a knife like you're scared of it. You let it become an extension of you."
Her hands were firm, practiced. Too familiar with violence.
"You flinch," she continued, "you die. You hesitate, you die. You get emotional—"
"I die," I finished.
She smirked. "You catch on fast."
She stepped back and folded her arms. "If I help you, the Creepers will notice. If the Creepers notice, the Saints will hear about it."
"I know."
"So why should I risk my territory for you?"
I tightened my grip on the knife. "Because if the Black Saints win, they'll come for this place next. And when they do, they won't negotiate."
Silence stretched.
Then Cager smiled.
Slow. Dangerous. Real.
"Congratulations," she said. "You just bought yourself a trial run."
My stomach dropped. "Trial?"
She tossed me another knife. This one heavier.
"Survive the night," she said. "Training starts at dawn."
The lights flickered.
And somewhere above us, the alley screamed.