Darian Vale didn't belong in the darkness, but it had always trailed behind him like a second shadow.
Rain pounded the Ormere alleyways, the city assuming secrets like perfume—thick, suffocating, seductive. Darian leaned against the twisted glass of his temporary tenement's window, observing the tempest tearing at the streets below. Puddles shimmered with tattered neon lights, bending reality and illusion. A corroded fire escape hung off the building like a splintered ladder to nowhere.
He had less than 48 hours to come to a decision that would wipe him from existence or drive him into becoming just what they needed—a tool.
Behind him on the tattered mattress lay a half-packed suitcase, its zipper open, taunting him. Inside: three burner phones, two fake passports, a thick envelope filled with unmarked credits, a set of lockpicks, and a silver locket.
The locket was the only thing that counted.
Within was a photo—faded slightly—of a summer day at Marrow Street Park. Elira's smile illuminated the image, eyes half-closed to the sun, hair mussed from the wind. She had no idea what he truly was. What he had done.
Darian opened and then closed the locket softly.
He didn't care to remember. Forgetting was worse.
Six months prior, he had hacked into a restricted vault beneath the Ministry of Truth. It hadn't been his intention. He was the decrypter, the quiet one who remained in the van, hooked into the city's security masterframes, and opened virtual doors for men in masks and mercenary grins.
The operation had been tidy—too tidy.
Until someone began cleaning up the cleaners.
His crew disappeared one at a time. Tev and Kora, their apartment set ablaze to charred cinders. Malik, a ex-special ops hacker, drowned in his own tub—hands bound, no water in his system.
Darian alone was left. And The Hollow—a syndicate so hidden most thought it was legend—had made contact.
Not to murder him.
To hire him.
"One more job," their message had stated. "One honest job. Then you're free."
But Darian knew better. There wasn't such a thing as an ending job. Not when it had to do with The Hollow.
He shot a look at the digital watch on his arm. 02:47 AM. Tick, tick, tick.
A low tap sounded throughout the room, clean and steady—three staccato knoccks, wait, then two. The rhythm caused his heartbeat to pause.
Only two others recognized that tap. One was dead.
The other….
"Elira?" he murmured.
He rushed, pulling the gun from under his pillow, flipping the safety off quietly. He went to the door, looking through the peeling peephole.
She was there, dripping with rain, a hoodie wrapped around her body, her chest heaving and falling quickly. Her eyes locked onto the peephole, piercing and fearful.
He pushed the door open, grabbing her arm and dragging her in.
"What are you doing here?" he growled, closing and bolting the door.
"You're in danger," she exclaimed. "They know where you are. They're watching the street."
Darian blinked. "How do you know that?"
She slicked back her wet hair. "Because I saw them. Men in a black car. One of them was the same guy who showed up at the café yesterday. I… I tailed them."
"You followed—? Elira, you're crazy."
She backed away, shivering. "So is vanishing on me for a week with no calls, no messages. I knew something was amiss."
Darian gritted his teeth. He couldn't tell her. Not everything.
"You have to leave. Now. If they're watching, you can't be seen with me."
"No." Her voice broke. "I'm not leaving. Not until you tell me what's actually happening."
Lightning cracked across the sky, illuminating the room in a spectral burst.
"I'm trying to help you."
"Then be honest with me!"
The words quivered in the air between them, electric with tension.
Darian shrugged off, his fists shaking. "You believe you know what a good man is, Elira. I ain't one of them. Done things. Let people steal from others. Damaged other folks. For pay. For coercion. I ain't the dude you think you—"
"Not care!" she shouted abruptly. "You think I have not experienced darkness? I have lived in this city since forever. I know people lie. I know people steal. I know some people do bad things because they don't have any other options. I'm not intimidated by your past, Darian."
He stared at her, heart pounding.
"I am," he said softly. "Because it could be your future, too. If you're with me."
A pause. Her voice softer now.
"Then let me choose."
He didn't reply. He couldn't.
A chime from his encrypted phone lit up the table.
UNKNOWN CALLER.
He moved to pick it up. Elira tried to read his expression, but his face was locked, cold as a cipher.
He answered.
"Darian Vale," the voice, synthetic, modulated. "You have 44 hours. The drive you hijacked—it wasn't the prize. Just a key. The real task is to come. Coordinates are on their way."
"What if I say no?" Darian asked.
"You won't."
Click.
The line went dead.
A red dot flashed on his screen. A map ping. Downtown. Deep within the Ministry's second facility.
Elira put a hand on his arm. "Who was that?"
"The Hollow."
Her breath caught.
"Then it's real."
"Always was."
She searched his face. "What do they want now?"
Darian gazed at the ping on the map. A vault hidden under ten stories of armored concrete, lasers, and gun-wielding patrols.
"They want me to steal something," he grumbled.
"What?"
"I don't know yet."
Elira hesitated. "Then let's discover. Together."
He gazed at her, really looked.
In a world full of shadows, she was the only true thing left.
And he was going to pull her into the dark.