The night air smelled of gasoline and wet concrete as we drove through the narrow streets of Gravehaven City. Rain had stopped, but the clouds still hung heavy, pressing down like the city itself was holding its breath.
"Marcus Ellory's location is old, abandoned garage," Liara said from the passenger seat, her voice steady, calm, almost too calm.
I glanced at her. "Abandoned garages usually mean one thing in this city—trouble."
She smirked faintly, eyes scanning the dark streets. "Exactly why we go."
We pulled up to a rusted garage tucked between two crumbling warehouses. Neon signs flickered nearby, reflecting off the puddles like broken promises.
I killed the engine. The silence was almost deafening.
"Stay sharp," Liara whispered, sliding out.
Inside, the garage smelled of oil and decay. Marcus Ellory had instructed us to meet a contact here—someone who could provide information about the killings, the pattern. Someone who could move shadows without leaving a trace.
We stepped cautiously between the rows of abandoned vehicles. Every footstep echoed.
Then, without warning, the silence shattered.
Gunfire.
Masked figures emerged from the shadows, rifles raised. Automatic bursts lit the darkness with harsh flashes, and the acrid smell of gunpowder filled the air.
"Move!" I shouted, diving behind a rusted van. Liara was already rolling to cover, her movements fluid and precise.
I returned fire, counting my shots, adrenaline hammering. The garage became a symphony of chaos—metal clanging, bullets pinging, neon reflections dancing across wet floors.
Liara fired from a corner, taking down one of the masked men with a clean shot. I ducked behind a car, returning fire, feeling the city's pulse in every heartbeat.
A flash of movement. Liara had vanished. My blood ran cold.
"Liara?" I called, voice low but tense. No answer.
The masked attackers were retreating, disappearing into the shadows as quickly as they had come. Silence returned, heavy, suffocating.
I moved through the chaos, checking corners, scanning the vehicles. No sign of her. Just the echo of her last movements.
The room was cold now, the air thick with smoke and rain seeping through the cracked roof. I sank against a half-destroyed crate, pistol still warm in my hand.
The city outside felt miles away, neon lights blurred through the garage windows like distant memories.
I exhaled slowly, trying to steady my racing heart. My mind replayed the chaos, the flashes, the way she had disappeared.
And then, somewhere deep in the dark, I realized: I couldn't protect her. Not fully. Not tonight.
I leaned back against the crate, letting the weight of the night settle. Shadows danced across the garage floor, and I whispered to myself:
"In this city, even the shadows have teeth."