"You'll be dead by this evening. What's the point in telling you?"
Silence fell across the café, heavy and absolute. The world seemed to compress into the space between Amias and Apannii—a vacuum where even time hesitated. Rain drummed against the windows with increasing intensity, creating a percussive backdrop to the standoff.
Apannii stared at Amias, his expression cycling through surprise, rage, and finally settling into something colder—a calculated malice that hardened his features. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered momentarily as thunder rumbled outside, casting his face in shadow for a heartbeat.
Slowly, deliberately, Apannii sighed. He rose from his chair with fluid grace, moving around the table until he stood directly before Amias. The revolver dangled from his fingers, almost casual, before he raised it and knocked the barrel against Amias's temple—not hard enough to injure, just enough to make his point.
"Alright, buddy," Apannii said softly, his voice nearly a whisper. "Alright, you know... and I was starting to like you."
He pressed the gun to Amias's head, metal cold against skin. Amias didn't flinch, didn't retreat into memory or fantasy. No flashbacks pulled him away from this moment. He remained present, unflinching, meeting Apannii's gaze directly—pupils fixed on pupils, a silent communication of wills.
The café seemed to contract around them, the air growing thicker, charged with potential violence. In the corner, Capari watched, his face betraying nothing despite the blood still seeping through his fingers where he clutched his wounded thigh. The pain had receded to background noise, his focus entirely on his cousin and the man who held his life in the balance.
"Four," Apannii began counting down, his voice almost conversational.
Amias didn't blink.
"Three."
The pressure of the gun barrel increased slightly, dimpling the skin of Amias's temple.
"Two."
Outside, the storm intensified, rain now lashing against the windows in sheets.
"One—"
The café door crashed open, the bell above it jangling discordantly as a gust of rain-laden wind swept into the space. Multiple figures entered—Digga D in front, flanked by Sav'o and two others, all of them soaked from the downpour, water pooling around their feet on the linoleum.
The newcomers took in the scene before them: Apannii standing over Amias, gun pressed to his head; Capari bleeding in his chair; Kenzo nursing his bloodied face; the rest of the crew lined up against the wall under the watchful eyes of armed guards.
"Yo, what's up with you man?" Apannii demanded, lowering the gun slightly but keeping it trained on Amias. "You supposed to be on they block right now."
Digga D moved further into the café, water dripping from his clothes. His expression was grim, eyes shadowed with exhaustion and something heavier—the weight of violence witnessed and inflicted.
"Things dead fam," he said flatly. "Nuff man got killed and such. We chilling now."
The words hung in the air for a moment before their meaning registered fully with Apannii. His face contorted with disbelief.
"What?" he spat, grip tightening on the revolver. "What you mean 'chilling now'?"
Digga D crossed the remaining distance between them, movements steady and controlled despite the tension crackling through the air. He stopped just short of Apannii, close enough that they could have touched, a deliberate invasion of personal space.
"I mean," Digga said, voice low but carrying easily in the quiet café, "it's done. Over."
"Over?" Apannii's voice rose sharply, echoing off the tiled walls. "Brother, two of my boys got murked first! What you mean 'over'?"
"I mean," Digga repeated, harder now, "watch how you talking to me, blood."
The power dynamic in the room shifted perceptibly. Apannii glanced around, noticing for the first time how everyone—CGM—in the cafe had positioned themselves strategically throughout the space—closer to Apannii than what was comfortable, a subtle realignment of forces.
"Bro," Apannii insisted, desperation edging into his tone, "we got Cench's cousins right here." He gestured wildly between Amias and Capari. "Two of them—Amias and Capari. We have them right now, blood. Right now! We can kill them right now."
"Give it a rest," Digga said, the words falling like stones between them.
Apannii stood frozen for a moment, the reality of his situation sinking in. His authority was being undermined, his carefully orchestrated games slipping through his fingers like water. His face flushed with impotent rage, eyes darting around the room, searching for allies and finding none.
"Kev," he finally called, voice tight with suppressed fury. He made a subtle gesture with his hand, and Kevin detached himself from the wall, crossing to Apannii's side. Without another word, both men moved toward the door, Apannii's fury radiating from him in almost tangible waves.
As they passed through the doorway into the rain-soaked night, Apannii cast one final look back at Amias—a glance laden with promise rather than defeat.
"I'll see you soon Amias."
Then he was gone, the door swinging shut behind him.
Silence settled over the café once more, broken only by the persistent drum of rain and the occasional distant rumble of thunder. Digga D stood motionless for several heartbeats, as if ensuring Apannii was truly gone, before turning his attention to the remaining captives.
He approached Amias and Capari, eyes flicking between them, taking in Capari's bloodied leg, the raw graze along Amias's cheek where the bullet had kissed his skin.
"Your big cuzz made a good deal that sees you both safe," he said, voice heavy with what might have been respect or simply exhaustion. "So count yourselves lucky."
He glanced toward the corner where the rest of Capari's crew remained under guard. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he instructed his men, "Let them move."
The armed guards lowered their weapons reluctantly, stepping back to allow the crew to approach. Several rushed forward immediately to assist Capari, who accepted their help with stoic dignity, his face betraying only the slightest grimace as they helped him to his feet.
Amias rose silently, declining the offered support. His movements were careful but steady, driven by a strange energy that seemed to hum beneath his skin. The wound on his cheek had stopped bleeding, leaving a dark, crusted trail down to his jaw, but he made no move to wipe it away.
He followed the others out into the night, the fresh air hitting him like a physical force after the stale confines of the café. The rain had eased somewhat, reduced to a gentle patter that beaded on his skin and clothes. The pre-dawn darkness was beginning to lift, the eastern sky faintly lighter—not yet dawn, but the promise of it.
Capari and the crew were already moving toward their vans, several of them supporting his weight as he limped across the wet pavement. Ekane fell into step beside Amias, concern placed evidently in his furrowed brow.
"Your face ight, fam?" he asked, voice low. "Let's get back to the van then, yeah?"
Amias opened his mouth to respond, but his attention was caught by a white BMW parked further down the street, its engine idling softly. The passenger window rolled down slowly, revealing Wyge's familiar face watching him intently from the driver's seat.
Without a word to Ekane, Amias changed direction, approaching the car with measured steps. He climbed into the back seat, settling into the leather upholstery with a barely audible sigh.
"Not rolling with your other cousin like you decided to when this all kicked off, huh?" Wyge asked, his tone carefully neutral despite the obvious tension in his jaw.
A2 watched Amias with wary eyes, his gaze lingering on the bloodied graze along his cheek.
"Nah," Amias replied simply, eyes fixed on the dashboard.
Wyge studied him for a moment longer, taking in the disheveled clothes, the dried blood, the distant look in his eyes. "You look like shit."
"I know."
Wyge nodded once, then put the car in gear, pulling away from the curb with deliberate smoothness. The urgency to distance themselves from the café was evident in the tightness of his grip on the steering wheel, the quick glances in the rearview mirror.
As they drove through the emptying streets, dawn began to break properly over London. The first tentative rays of sunlight pierced the cloud cover, turning raindrops on the windshield into glittering prisms. The city was waking slowly, reluctantly, unaware of the violence that had transpired through the night.
"Fam," Wyge said after several minutes of silence, "you know I respect when man getting his get back, but this..." He shook his head, a muscle working in his jaw. "Y'all went around reckless, didn't even secure Shepherds. You know how many kids died today?"
Amias remained silent, his gaze fixed on the passing landscape—a London he recognized physically but felt strangely detached from, as if seeing it through someone else's eyes.
"And I heard Dyno's dead," A2Anti added from the backseat, his voice carefully neutral.
"Deserved to," Amias murmured, the words barely audible.
The car swerved slightly as Wyge's head whipped around, his expression a mixture of shock and concern. "Why'd you say that?"
Amias considered the question, feeling the weight of their gazes on him. "Those who worship at the altar of violence," he said finally, his voice low and distant, "are destined to be sacrificed upon it."
A2Anti hummed thoughtfully, exchanging a glance with Wyge through the rearview mirror. "You know," he began carefully, "with this rapping thing going on with Cench, and even you started your thing... gotten on the UK billboard already... bro, this thing is dead, fam."
"Yeah," Wyge agreed, navigating the car through a roundabout. "Why'd you think I changed my name from Yung Gwopz to Wyge? Fam, we not looking to slide, to trap, none of that no more. Man getting businesses set up and all that, bro."
"We're of the same mind," Amias said, finally turning to look at his cousin.
Wyge shot him a skeptical glance. "Foreal? You deading it?"
"It died right in front of my eyes," Amias replied, his gaze returning to the windshield, to the city slowly emerging from darkness.
The car fell silent again, the only sound the soft purr of the engine and the occasional swish of tires through puddles. London continued to materialize around them—shops with their shutters still down, early risers hurrying to work, the occasional police siren in the distance.
"Right," Wyge said eventually, breaking the silence. "Well, I don't suppose you realize where we're driving to."
"Where?" Amias asked, though there was little curiosity in his tone.
"Your Uncle Desmond's house. Your big cousin is there." Wyge paused meaningfully. "And your mom."
Amias sighed, a depth of weariness in the sound that seemed beyond his years. "Does she know what happened?"
"Everyone knows what happened tonight," Wyge replied grimly.
"Right. Great."
A2 leaned back, resting a hand briefly on Amias's shoulder. "Make sure to give your mumzy a hug after your big cousin gives you a ruff up for this dumb shit y'all did. She was calling down man's phone whole night to get updates. She was worried sick when we couldn't find you and you wasn't answering your phone."
"Right," Amias nodded slowly. "Can we make a quick stop and get my phone? I left it somewhere."
"Bet," Wyge agreed, signaling to change lanes.
The car fell silent once more as they navigated through the awakening city. Buildings passed in a blur of brick and stone, the occasional flash of sunlight on glass. The rain had stopped completely now, leaving behind a freshly washed London, streets glistening under the strengthening sunlight.
"One question," Wyge said suddenly, eyes fixed on the road ahead. "You know who a Temi is?"
The question hung in the air for a moment, heavy with unspoken implications.
"Mhm," he said softly. "I know exactly who Temi is."