Page 40 of Cage the Storm
“Nico.”
It’s familiar, something that pulls at the edges of my mind.
Luna.
I try to reach for her, but the fever keeps me trapped, spinning me deeper into the obscurity.
It’s so hot I can barely breathe. It feels like a thick blanket is smothering me. My arms and legs feel like they’re made of stone—like I’m wading through mud just to move an inch and warping the edges of reality until I’m not in the cellar anymore.
I’m back there.
The alley’s dark, the air thick with the stench of death. My hands are slick, my knuckles raw, and the metallic taste clings to my tongue. I hear them, footsteps echoing off the walls, closing in.
I was younger then. Impulsive. Hungry to please my father but too green to understand the cost.
The deal had gone south fast. I’d been outnumbered, and the only thing keeping me alive was sheer, unrelenting will.
The first blow comes from behind, a brutal crack against my ribs that sends me stumbling. I spin, swinging blindly, and my fist connects with something solid. A grunt. A curse. But there are too many of them.
Pain explodes across my side as a blade slices through flesh, hot and searing. I stagger, clutching at the wound, but there’s no time to think, no time to breathe. Another hit lands, and I go down hard, the pavement unforgiving beneath me.
I remember the blood, so much blood, pooling around me, staining my hands. I remember how my vision blurred, and the world tilted as I fought to stay conscious.
And then I see him. Carlo Morales.
A shadow in the frenzy, stepping forward with a smirk that makes my blood run cold. “You thought you could take me on?” he sneers, his voice dripping with mockery. “You’re nothing, kid. Just another body for the morgue.”
I should’ve died that night. I came so close I could feel the void pulling at me, whispering promises of peace.
The world’s slipping, dragging me down with it. My vision blurs, the sounds around me distorting into a distant hum, but I know what’s coming. The final hit. The finishing blow.
Then, movement.
A figure steps into the anarchy, fast and precise. A gunshot splinters through the night, followed by an angry curse.
I don’t process it right away, until hands grip my shirt, hauling me upright. My body protests, the pain searing through every nerve, but suddenly, I’m moving.
Not by choice.
“Stay awake,” a voice orders, low and unrelenting. “You go under now, you’re dead.”
I blink, fighting through the fog, and for the first time, I see him.
His face is expressionless, but his grip is solid as he drags me into the alley, gunfire still erupting behind us. I don’t know him. I don’t understand why he’s here. But at this time, he’s the only thing keeping me from bleeding out on the street.
Despair tugs at the edges of my vision. I try to speak, but the words stick to the back of my throat, thick with blood and exhaustion.
“You good to stand?” he asks, shaking me slightly, forcing me to focus.
I let out a ragged breath. “No.”
“Didn’t think so.” Then, everything blurs as the ground moves, and I’m flying. And then, through the haze, I hear it again.
“Nico.” The voice slices through the noise. I grab it, trying to free myself from the blackness, but the chill won’t loosen its grip.
The darkness clings to me like a heavy blanket. I can hear the echoes of gunfire still ringing in my head, the phantom sting of pain licking up my side, but something’s different.
The cold pavement is gone.
