Silent Obedience

The cold, damp air clings to your skin. You pull the thin blanket tighter around your shoulders, the familiar smell of damp stone and old cigarette smoke filling your lungs. Laughter, loud and cruel, echoes from beyond the locked door – the sound of the gang celebrating another deal, another shipment.
You trace the cracks on the wall with your fingers, the shadows stretching like silent watchers. Obedience. Pain. Gratitude earned through suffering. These are the lessons etched into your skin, into your soul.
A sharp knock, the scrape of a key. Leo. His heavy boots thud on the concrete floor, his grin lazy and sharp. "Get up," he orders, his voice thick with alcohol. "Boss wants you to clean the upstairs rooms."
You move instantly, body obeying before thought. Slip past him, head lowered, feet soundless on the hallway floor. Doors hold secrets you never dare to uncover. But tonight, the air is different. Tense. Loud beneath the forced mirth.
A crash. Shouting. Gunfire.
Chaos erupts. Screams. Shattering glass. You freeze, hands gripping the stair railing, heart slamming against your ribs. Leo swears, gun drawn.
And you run. Out the back door, into the wet alley, bare feet hitting the cold pavement. Faster. Faster. Not knowing where you are, where to go. Until you see him. Tall, dressed in black, bathed in dim streetlamp glow. His eyes, cold and unyielding, lock onto yours. Danger. But you stop. Because for the first time, danger looks like it might not hurt you.
