Page 48 of Crowned

I swore to her that I’d be safe, that there was zero risk in meeting with my contact, and I hate lying to her. But sometimes you have to tell little white lies for the greater good, and keeping Malia from worrying herself sick about me – or worse, following me – is definitely the greater good.

The night air clings to my skin as I step out of the shadows and onto the cracked pavement. I pull my hoodie tighter around me, keeping my head low and my hands shoved deep into my pockets. The meeting spot is a few blocks away, tucked in the back of an old warehouse district that hasn’t seen much life since the factories shut down years ago.

It’s the kind of place you don’t wander into unless you’re desperate – or you know exactly what you’re looking for. Tonight, I’m both.

My boots crunch against gravel as I cut through an alleyway, the sharp tang of rust and oil filling my nose. A single street light flickers overhead, casting long, jittery shadows against the graffitied walls. I check my watch: 11:57 p.m.

Three minutes to midnight.

They said not to be late.

The warehouse looms ahead, its corrugated metal walls reflecting the faint glow of the city skyline. One side of the building sags like it’s ready to collapse under its own weight, but the other side looks sturdy enough to still host some kind of activity – legal or otherwise.

I approach the rusted side door and pause, my pulse thudding in my ears. The silence is oppressive, broken only by the faint hum of the ocean’s waves crashing in the distance. My hand hovers over the door handle as I scan the alley one last time, but there’s no sign of anyone following me.

Still, I can’t shake the feeling of eyes on my back.

Taking a deep breath, I push the door open. It groans on its hinges, and I wince at the sound as I step inside.

The air is colder here, damp and stale like the breath of something long buried. My footsteps echo against the concrete floor, bouncing off towering shelves stacked with crates and rusted machinery. The faint glow of a single bulb ahead tells me I’m in the right place.

“Bhodi.”

The voice is sharp, cutting through the stillness. A figure steps out from the shadows, tall and lean, their face obscured by the brim of a baseball cap. The glint of metal catches my eye – a knife, hanging loosely from their hand.

“You’re alone?” the figure asks, their voice low and rough, like gravel under a boot.

I nod, lifting my hands slightly to show I’m unarmed. “Just like you asked.”

They take a step closer, their movements fluid but cautious. The knife isn’t raised, but it’s not put away either.

“Smart. Let’s keep it that way.”

I don’t flinch under their gaze, but the weight of it presses down on me. This is the moment where everything could go sideways if I say the wrong thing.

“I need information,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “And I’m willing to pay for it.”

They tilt their head, the brim of the cap lifting just enough for me to catch a glimpse of dark eyes, sharp and assessing.

“Information costs,” they say. “And not just money.”

“I know the rules,” I reply, my jaw tightening. “Just tell me what you want.”

The figure chuckles, the sound low and humorless. “It’s not about what I want, Bhodi. It’s about what you’re willing to give.”

Before I can respond, the sound of a door slamming echoes through the warehouse. My head snaps toward the noise, and the figure in front of me tenses, their grip on the knife tightening.

“Did you bring someone?” they hiss, their voice sharp with accusation.

“No,” I say quickly, my heart hammering against my chest. “I swear, I came alone.”

But the footsteps that follow the slam tell a different story. They’re slow and deliberate, each one sending a jolt of dread through me.

“Looks like you’ve got company,” the figure mutters, stepping back into the shadows. “Let’s hope they’re not here for the same thing you are.”

The bulb overhead flickers, plunging the room into brief darkness before sputtering back to life. When it does, the figure is gone.

And I’m left standing alone as the footsteps draw closer.

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