Chapter Text
Nathaniel noticed them before they noticed him.
Or at least, that’s what he told himself.
It started as a feeling—sharp and familiar, crawling up the back of his neck like a warning he had learned never to ignore. The street around him buzzed with noise—voices, footsteps, the distant hum of traffic—but beneath it, something didn’t fit.Footsteps that echoed just a little too closely behind his own.
A shadow that stretched too long across the pavement.
Eyes he could feel without seeing.
Nathaniel kept walking.His pace stayed even, controlled, like he had nowhere to be and all the time in the world. His hands were buried deep in his pockets, fingers curled tight enough to ache. His shoulders were loose, posture careless.
A lie. Every part of it.
His eyes flicked briefly to the shop windows as he passed, catching reflections without turning his head.
Three behind him.
One across the street.
Too coordinated. Too quiet. Left—crowded, but narrow.Right—dead end, he remembered too well.Forward—
A hand brushed his shoulder as someone passed him, the contact light but deliberate, and Nathaniel flinched before he could stop himself.
The world seemed to narrow.
He looked up.
For a heartbeat, everything went silent—the noise, the movement, the city itself—like the moment before something breaks.
Green eyes met his.
Not just green. Sharp. Bright. Unforgiving. Familiar.
Lola Malcolm stood in front of him, close enough that he could see the faint curve of her smile, the way it didn’t reach her eyes. She looked exactly the same as she always had—calm, composed, like this was nothing more than a casual encounter. Like she hadn’t just found him after years.
“Well,” she said softly, almost amused, “there you are Junior.”
Nathaniel’s chest tightened. No. Not her. Anyone but her.
Cold spread through him, fast and suffocating, dragging old memories with it—blood, shouting, the sound of doors slamming shut. The feeling of being too small, too trapped.
Mistake.They knew.
He felt it in the way the air shifted around him, in the subtle repositioning of bodies, in the way escape routes closed without anyone needing to say a word.
No more pretending.
No more maybe.
They had found him.
Nathaniel forced himself to breathe, slow and steady, even as his pulse hammered against his ribs.
Don’t run, his mother had always said. Not unless you’re sure.
His gaze flicked past Lola, measuring distance, angles, timing.
Three behind. One to the left. Lola in front.
Not good odds.
But staying was worse.
Nathaniel took a step back.
Then he turned the corner—
—and ran.
Nathaniel ran.
Everything snapped into motion at once, the noise of the street crashing back around him as he pushed forward, shoving past startled strangers and ignoring the sharp protests that followed. His focus narrowed to one thing only—distance. Footsteps pounded behind him, fast and precise, too many to count, and none of them shouting. They didn’t need to. They knew exactly where he was going.
He cut sharply into a narrow alley, boots skidding for half a second on damp stone before catching. The air shifted immediately—colder, tighter, the sounds of the street fading into something distant and useless. His breath came harder now, dragging against his ribs, but he forced it into rhythm. Don’t panic. Panic got you caught.
A crash echoed behind him—wood splintering, something heavy knocked aside—and they didn’t slow. Of course they didn’t. Nathaniel pushed harder, ignoring the burn in his legs, the sting in his lungs, the way his body protested the sudden demand. It had been too long since he’d had to run like this.
The alley split ahead.
He chose right.
A figure stepped into his path.
Nathaniel twisted at the last second, slamming into the wall instead of into them, pain flaring through his shoulder as he pushed off again, refusing to lose speed. A hand caught his sleeve—he ripped free, fabric tearing. Another grip locked around his wrist, tight and bruising, yanking him back.
He spun with it, striking out without thinking. His fist connected with something solid, a grunt following, fingers loosening just enough. He wrenched himself free again and staggered forward, breath tearing out of him now, uneven, raw.
The alley opened—
—and Lola Malcolm stepped into the light like she had always been there.
Nathaniel skidded to a halt, boots scraping harshly against stone, his entire body jolting with the sudden stop. She didn’t move. Didn’t need to. Her gaze swept over him, calm, assessing, already certain.
“Still predictable,” she said quietly.
His pulse slammed against his ribs. Behind him, footsteps closed in—too close now, too fast. No space left. No time.
Nathaniel lunged anyway.
His shoulder hit hers hard enough to stagger her half a step, and for a fraction of a second it almost worked—
A hand slammed into his back, sending him pitching forward. His palms hit the ground hard, skin scraping against rough stone, pain flaring sharp and immediate. He twisted instantly, trying to roll—
Weight crashed down on him from behind.The impact drove the air from his lungs in a broken gasp, his chest hitting the ground hard enough to rattle him. A knee dug into his back, forcing him down, pinning him there as if he weighed nothing.
“Get off—” he choked, trying to push up.
A hand fisted in his hair and yanked.
His head snapped back, pain sharp enough to blur his vision, a sound dragged out of him before he could stop it. He twisted anyway, fighting through it, managing to free one arm just enough to drive his elbow back. It connected—solid—and someone cursed, the pressure shifting.
Not enough.
Another hand seized his arm, wrenching it behind his back too far, too hard. Pain shot through his shoulder, something pulling wrong, and his muscles locked up in protest. He sucked in a sharp breath, teeth clenching, but still didn’t stop.
“Stop fighting.”
Nathaniel let out a breathless, strained laugh. “No.”
The word came rough, defiant, even as his strength started to slip, his movements slowing under the weight and force holding him down. A sharp strike landed between his shoulders—not enough to knock him out, just enough to hurt, to remind.
His vision flickered, edges darkening for a second, and when it cleared, he saw boots step into his line of sight.
Polished. Clean. Unhurried.
Lola crouched in front of him, resting her arms loosely on her knees like this was nothing more than a conversation. Like he wasn’t pinned to the ground beneath them.Her fingers slipped under his chin, lifting his head just enough to force eye contact.
“Done?” she asked softly.
Nathaniel glared at her, breath still uneven, blood sharp in his mouth. “Go to hell.”
Her lips curved slightly. “I’ve been. It’s not as interesting as this.”
Her grip tightened just enough to hurt before she let go and stood. “Bind him.”
Hands dragged his arms tighter behind his back, rough rope biting into his wrists, pulled cruelly tight. He tensed against it, jaw clenched, refusing to make a sound as it cut into already raw skin. Someone hauled him upright, his legs nearly giving out before he caught himself, swaying.
“Careful,” Lola said lightly. “We need him alive.”
Nathaniel lifted his head slowly, meeting her eyes again, something cold settling in his chest. “Shame.”
Her smile sharpened, but this time there was something harder behind it.
“For now,” she said.
He didn’t get the chance to react.
Something hard struck the side of his head.Pain exploded, sudden and blinding, the world tilting violently out of place. Nathaniel staggered, vision fracturing into light and shadow, his balance gone in an instant.
He tried to stay upright.
Tried to fight it.
But his legs gave out beneath him, the strength draining from his body too fast to stop. The last thing he saw was the ground rushing up to meet him, blurred and distant, as the voices around him faded into something hollow and far away.
Then—
nothing.