The early morning sky was heavy with gray, the color of forgotten sorrows. A cold wind swept through the narrow alleyways of Veriton City, whistling past cracked windows and abandoned storefronts. Every building seemed to sag under the weight of secrets it could no longer bear. The ground was littered with yesterday's trash, scraps of newspapers soaked from a night of rain, and puddles reflecting a sky that hadn't smiled in years.
Seated on the broken steps of a condemned apartment block, 17-year-old Evan Cross wrapped his thin arms tighter around himself, as if he could squeeze the ache out of his bones. Tall for his age, with a lean frame hardened by years of neglect, he had unruly black hair that hung low over sharp blue eyes—eyes that had learned far too early to look away. A jagged scar ran along his left jaw, the only souvenir from a night he refused to remember. His hands, rough and calloused, trembled lightly from the cold and something deeper—something hollow that warmth could never fix.
Evan wasn't anyone important. Not yet. His job at "Harper's Garage" paid just enough to afford stale bread and a rotting mattress in a place rats found too generous. School was a distant memory; survival was the only curriculum he attended now. His mother, Angela Cross, had vanished five years ago, swallowed by the same shadows that devoured the city. His father, if he could even be called that, was a ghost in human skin—present but empty.
The street Evan stared at wasn't much better. Across from him, "Maxwell's Deli" flickered a broken neon "OPEN" sign despite being shut for months. A gang of boys in tattered jackets loitered near the corner, trading cigarettes and dead dreams. Evan knew them by name, knew the way they laughed like broken glass when someone weaker walked past.
He should move. He should stand up. But the weight in his chest pinned him down. Memories gnawed at him, vivid and merciless.
---
A week ago, his best friend, Levi Hartman, had thrown his life away for a rumor.
"Big score," Levi had said, eyes wild, voice drunk on desperation. "One hit, Evan. One job, and we're out of here."
The "one job" had ended with Levi bleeding out in Evan's arms in a gutter much like this one, his brown eyes frozen in a look of betrayal Evan couldn't shake. Seventeen years old, dead for nothing. Evan had screamed his throat raw that night, but no one had heard him. Or maybe they had heard and decided not to care. In Veriton, silence was currency.
Now, Evan was alone. The loneliness wasn't new; it was just louder now.
"Hey!"
The voice snapped him out of his spiral. Evan lifted his head, instincts sharpening like a blade.
Across the street, a girl stood beneath the skeletal remains of a bus stop shelter. She couldn't have been older than sixteen, with tangled chestnut hair pulled into a lazy braid. Her name was Maya Vance. She worked the night shifts at "Rusty's," a crumbling diner where the coffee tasted like regret. Maya was small, barely five foot two, but she had a fire in her green eyes that Evan respected.
"You coming or what?" she called, stamping her boots against the cold.
Coming where? Evan had no idea. But standing here would get him nothing but pneumonia.
Wordlessly, he pushed himself up, joints stiff from sitting too long, and crossed the street. His battered sneakers slapped the wet pavement with a sad, rhythmic sound.
"Where are we going?" he asked when he was close enough.
Maya tilted her head, her smile a ghost of what it once might have been. "Someplace better than this."
Evan doubted such a place existed. But he followed anyway.
---
They weaved through the maze of alleys, passing graffiti-smeared walls and hollow-eyed junkies huddled against dumpsters. Veriton didn't pretend anymore. It was a carcass, and the people picking at it didn't even bother to hide.
Finally, they reached an old abandoned railway station. The glass was smashed, and vines strangled the rusted beams, but there was something hauntingly beautiful about it. Inside, the cavernous space smelled of wet stone and memories. Shafts of gray light filtered through the broken roof, casting jagged patterns on the cracked marble floor.
"Why here?" Evan asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Maya shrugged, tossing her backpack to the ground. "It's quiet. No one bothers you here."
She sank down onto the steps of what used to be the ticket booth, legs stretched out in front of her. Evan hesitated before sitting beside her, leaving just enough space for the ghosts between them.
For a long while, they said nothing. Only the distant hum of the city bleeding through the crumbling walls kept them tethered to reality.
"Levi was my cousin," Maya said suddenly.
The confession punched Evan harder than any fist ever could.
"I know," he said, voice cracking.
Maya laughed, a broken sound. "Funny how we never talked about that."
Evan swallowed the guilt clawing at his throat. He had failed Levi. He had failed everyone.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
Maya shook her head, her braid sliding across her jacket. "Sorry doesn't fix dead, Evan."
No, it didn't.
"But," she continued, softer now, "it can stop more dead from happening."
Evan turned to her, confusion knitting his brow.
Maya pulled something out of her jacket—a small, crumpled envelope. She tossed it onto his lap.
"Levi wasn't stupid," she said. "That job he took? It wasn't random. He was looking for this."
Evan opened the envelope with trembling fingers. Inside was a photograph: a blurred image of a black briefcase marked with a silver "V." Scribbled on the back were coordinates.
"What's this?" he asked.
"A way out," Maya said. "Or a way to die trying."
Evan stared at the photo, then at the girl beside him. The world had already taken everything from him. Maybe it was time he took something back.
The first crack of hope splintered through the ice around his heart.
He stood, stuffing the envelope into his pocket. "When do we start?"
Maya grinned, and for the first time, Evan saw a flicker of the sister Levi had always protected.
"Tonight."
As the city roared and howled outside, two broken kids forged a fragile pact inside a forgotten station. A storm was coming. Evan could feel it in his bones, taste it in the stale air. And this time, he wouldn't be the one bleeding in the street.
Not again.
Never again.
---
Outside, rain began to fall, cleansing nothing, baptizing no one. But somewhere deep inside Evan Cross, something stirred. A fracture, a spark.
And sometimes, all it took to burn down a kingdom was a boy who had nothing left to lose.