The bustling city pulses like a living organism, its veins congested with honking cars and shoving pedestrians. Rohan and Tyrianne run through the throngs of people. The cacophony of voices blend into the background, punctuated by the shrill cries of street vendors hawking their wares. A pungent miasma of sweat assaults their senses, mingling with the aromas of sizzling meats and spices from nearby food stalls. “This is the second time!” Rohan complains, his eyes scanning every face, searching for any hint. Another note has been sent to them, warning them of their not-good-strategy to defeat the elites, saying it won’t work soon and they will pay with their lives. The note was left by a street child, but the instant he saw them, he ran away. “We need to be careful, Hansel,” Tyrianne says, who is still using his other name for safety. “Someone good is definitely watching our move.” “From the Twelve Elites?” “Most probably.” “Your lover?” “If you are referring to Clint, then he wo

A cold wind swept through the dark alleyways, biting at Rohan’s face as he and Tyrianne look for any clues that connect the warning note to the sender. Rohan’s fingers tighten around the handle of his pistol, feeling the weight of it as he looks around the streets. “Rohan, you’re too tense,” Tyrianne whispers. “You need to stay clear-headed if we are going to find this person.” “Easy for you to say,” he mutters. Now that they have one clue to knowing who is sending the letters, he can’t help but get agitated. “Look,” Tyrianne says, pointing to a torn scrap of paper wedged between two cobblestones. It bears the same symbol that matches the one they had found on the back of the warning note. “That’s the same notes they used to send us warnings,” she adds. A street child told them where to find the same type of notes that are used for the message. The child added that he knows someone who received a huge sum of money just to deliver the notes. So, as they turn a corner, they discover

Rohan’s next destination is the docks. As they reach it, they find a small crowd of people singing and dancing. He looks for a man with the description given by the boss. From the crowd, there is only one that fits Pablo’s description—a man in his thirties with black, messy hair and horn-rimmed glasses. He is on one of the tables, watching the dancers while drinking beer. Rohan glances at Tyrianne in the distance. This time, she agrees to be a lookout. She’s not far from the docks. With her with him, things always turn bloody. And Rohan doesn’t want violence when he’s amidst a crowd of people. Approaching Pablo, Rohan sits on the chair across from him and smiles. “Good evening, Pablo.” He snorts. “Why do you even know my name?” “Gertrude Mendoza,” Rohan states and, based on the smirk that plays on Pablo’s face, he already knows why he’s here. “We need to ask a few questions.” “Damn, even during my rest time, I am still going to be asked about my work?” he complains. He places a c

The following weeks are a flurry of activities. They set their plans in motion. Rohan and Pablo help gather evidence against Gertrude, while Tyrianne snakes her way into infiltrating Gertrude’s inner circle. Although, Tyrianne looks all harmless, innocent, and sincere—it belies the fact that she can ensnare anyone within her traps.The door opens, and Tyrianne comes into his office. She is wearing a purple dress that reaches half her thighs. Her hair is up in a lovely bun and her heels are at least five inches high.Sitting on a couch, she removes her heels and starts to massage her feet.“Gertrude Mendoza has her fingers in a lot of pies,” Rohan informs her.“Right,” she says. Clearly tired and annoyed by the recent social event she had just attended.“How’s everything on your side?”“Bad. I didn’t see Clint at all. No one from Gertrude’s side attended the event too.”“A waste for the get-up?”“What?” she asks, frowning.“Well, you look pretty in that dress,” he comments, almost trip

Rohan and Tyrianne sit across from each other in a dimly lit room, sharing breakfast and visibly shaken. Dust fills the air and the slivers of light that sneak in from the outside illuminate the room. He shifts his gaze to her, and like him, her face is pale and drawn. He can see the worry in her expression, the same as what he is feeling now. Tyrianne breaks the silence. “How could it have been so easy?” Her voice is barely audible and there is a tremble in her voice as she speaks. Rohan shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he admits. “Do you think it’s a trap?” “But we’re still alive.” “A delayed trap, perhaps?” Still, Rohan feels like someone is laughing at him–as if he is being played around. “How safe is this place?” she asks. “You’re the only person who knows this place.” “I’m worried about my kids in the orphanage.” “I don’t think they would massacre them.” “Rohan!” she scolds, and she might not have noticed herself, but she just called him by his name. “Should I apolog