[Moments after the kill. Thoughts of the boy from the sewer]

  That wasn’t luck.

  That was precision.

  He timed it. Watched. Waited. Knew exactly where to strike.

  That stick might as well’ve been a blade.

  No flinching. No panic. Just... done.

  He crouched near the sewer grate, eyes fixed on the boy. The others whispered behind him, murmurs of shock and awe, but he barely heard them.

  I’ve got Rats older than him who still hesitate when it’s time to hit. Still shout or cry or miss.

  But this one?

  He’s ice. A ghost. And he’s just a kid.

  If that was his first kill… he’s built for this.

  He felt it then, a mix of chill and spark.

  He could be dangerous.

  He could be something more.

  When the boy looked toward the grate, the one watching didn’t hide.

  If he comes down here… he’s one of us.

  The boy began his descent into the sewer, not knowing what to expect, only that he was curious.

  It was dark, but not as foul or wet as the streets of Gordonville. The air felt thicker, but not choking.

  When he reached the bottom, he couldn’t see anything.

  But he felt them.

  Presence. Movement. Breath.

  Then came a voice, sharp and direct:

  “How much was on the man?”

  He didn’t respond at first.

  Then he remembered, the pocket. The thing he took. Crumpled paper. Money, maybe.

  “I don’t know,” he said, avoiding the truth, that he didn’t even know how to count.

  Another voice, low and steady:

  “You know that was ours, right? That man was our target.”

  A headlamp flicked on, faint, flickering.

  The darkness peeled back.

  Five boys, more or less his age, maybe a little older.

  Watching him. Studying him.

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  One of them stepped forward, the boy with the sharp eyes.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  The boy hesitated.

  Then quietly, “I don’t have one.”

  Dry laughter echoed.

  Not cruel, just surprised.

  The boy with the eyes grinned and pointed at the newcomer’s shirt.

  “Look at that artwork. Stained in that pig’s blood.”

  “We’ll just call you Red for now.”

  He stepped closer, chin up.

  “I’m Bully. Leader of the Rats.”

  Bully stepped forward.

  Red didn’t flinch.

  In fact, he felt something strange, something close to a bond.

  Bully stopped just centimeters away. A little taller, his stare heavy.

  “So... what are you gonna do now?”

  Red didn’t answer.

  What does he mean? What am I going to do now… like, being down here with them? In a trap?

  No… I don’t feel threatened.

  Does he mean my future? Why would he care?

  He looked to the others, quiet, staring, then back to Bully.

  He held the stare.

  Said nothing.

  Bully stepped past him.

  “Okay. Follow me.”

  Red followed.

  He stayed close behind, watching how Bully moved, heavy, deliberate.

  He looked over his shoulder. The Rats were gone.

  Silently scattered into the tunnels.

  Only Bully’s headlamp lit the way.

  The darkness was complete.

  The kind that swallows you whole.

  Red gripped his sharpened stick.

  No one had taken it from him.

  To him, that felt like trust.

  He had never followed anyone before.

  But now… he did.

  Then, a clicking sound.

  A signal.

  The tunnel opened into a wider space.

  Light spilled through a curtain of mist.

  He stepped through.

  Blinding light from lamps reflecting on wet tile and drifting mist.

  When his eyes adjusted, he saw a pit.

  A circular chamber. Stone walls. Damp tiles. Warm, heavy air.

  Red stood in the center.

  The Rats surrounded him in silence, looking down from the edges.

  For a brief moment, he just stared.

  Then his body understood before his mind did.

  This was not just a pit.

  This was a ring.

  Across the ring floor, Bully.

  This wasn’t an ambush.

  This was a ceremony.

  Bully dropped into a stance.

  Red answered without thinking, his own guard rising.

  Bully advanced.

  Red lifted his defense.

  Didn’t see the kick.

  A sharp strike to his left side.

  His guard dropped.

  A fist hit his face.

  Fast. Strong.

  Red staggered.

  Blood in his mouth.

  He shifted, saw an opening, and landed an uppercut.

  It surprised Bully.

  Just for a second.

  Then came a clean cross.

  His vision flashed white.

  Red dropped to one knee.

  One hand on the ground.

  Bleeding.

  But not out.

  He had lost.

  But something had shifted.

  Bully spoke:

  “Good. Very good.”

  “Now you’re one of us.”

  “In the Rats, the ring decides.”

  “You’ll do good, Red.”

  The boy looked up.

  He saw the Rats cheering. Felt hands lift him, clap his back, offer water.

  But his eyes searched.

  There, Bully, apart from the group, hand on his chin, gaze distant.

  [Bully’s Thoughts]

  What was that?

  Didn’t even see the uppercut coming.

  Didn’t hurt. No power. Kid’s starving.

  But still…

  Three hits taken. That’s two more than anyone else in the ritual. Usually they’re out after one.

  This one didn’t fall. Didn’t quit.

  This boy is building his legend.

  A voice rang out:

  “Time to move. This ain’t the place to celebrate.”

  The moment ended.

  But everything had changed.

  The others began to move. Some filtered back into the tunnels. A few lingered, trading quiet words and smirks.

  Red stayed where he was, still catching his breath, the sting of the fight buzzing under his skin.

  Then he saw Bully signal to someone across the chamber.

  A figure stepped out from the mist.

  Tall.

  Too tall.

  Skin stretched over bone. Arms that hung low, almost dragging. Legs too long for his body, making his walk a jerky, uncertain thing, like he hadn’t yet figured out how to move like a person.

  Pads on his knees, elbows, and forearms, strapped on like armor made from leftovers.

  Thick glasses wrapped around his head with a cord so they wouldn’t fall.

  He looked awkward.

  Like a mistake that kept surviving.

  But his face... his face was serious. Focused.

  His eyes wide and locked, like he was watching something no one else could see.

  Red couldn’t tell if he was thinking about something profound, or absolutely nothing at all.

  He moved straight toward Bully.

  They spoke.

  But Red couldn’t hear a word.

  Bully said something.

  The tall boy nodded.

  Then he turned, limbs swinging, legs stiff, and walked straight toward Red.