Cain eyed the four men behind Brulin as the big man took a step forward. The bald man’s smile widened with each step. “Seems your son had a little adventure the other day.” Brulin stopped and cracked his knuckles as he eyed Cain. “The boss wasn’t too pleased, and you are going to have to pay for it.”

  “Yeah,” one of the people following him—a black-haired man in slacks—said.

  Cain frowned. Briggs wasn’t with him—the rat-face man never left Brulin’s side. Cain glanced around, checking the corners and searching in windows. There didn’t seem to be anyone hiding anywhere waiting to ambush him.

  “What are you talking about?” Cain asked. “My son’s been at home all week.” Even as he said the words, Cain’s stomach knotted. They wouldn’t care what he said, it was all just pretence. They would use whatever reason to increase the debt, no matter how small. This was the same old tactic, and he was getting sick of it.

  “Oh, really. That’s not what I’ve heard.” Brulin tilted his head to the side. His gaze drifted to the cobblestone as if he were in thought. “No matter. The debt incurred this time is a little too significant.”

  “What are you—”

  “Now, now, dear Cain. I wouldn’t go wasting your last breaths.” A cruel smile formed across Brulin’s lips, causing a shiver to run down Cain’s back. What was going on?

  “Boys!”

  The four men in the back stepped forward, forming a line. Each of them cracked their knuckles and sniggered while looking him over as if he were some piece of meat. Their movements were smoother than a normal person, each one was a mana cultivator. Perhaps the same level as him or lower.

  Now, how do you get yourself out of this one, Cain?

  “Go have some fun,” Brulin said.

  With that, the four men shot forward, their feet slapping against the cobblestone as they closed in. It wouldn’t be a fair fight. Not that, that was a surprise—they never gave him one. He just hoped the beating wouldn’t be too bad this time.

  The slack-wearing man leapt forward with a knee. Cain stepped to the side as the man whisked past, and his hand snapped out. His palm slammed into the man’s shoulder, knocking him off course.

  A second one came from Cain’s side, swinging fast. Ducking to the side, Cain dropped into a crouch and swept the guy’s leg. The man flipped onto his back, smacking the stone with a grunt as Cain leapt back to his feet, narrowly avoiding the stomp from a third man.

  “You guys better stop messing around. The boss wants this done fast.” Brulin said from the back. Cain kept one eye on him, as when he got involved, that was when this would get difficult.

  The fourth man charged at him. His arms were open wide. Cain wouldn’t be able to dodge. Behind him, the slacks man was back on his feet and waiting for an opportunity. Perhaps if he…

  Before Cain could think, the sound of something whisking through the air caused him to flinch. His eyes snapped up as there, arcing towards him, was a brick. From the trajectory, it had come from where Brulin stood. When had he grabbed it? It seemed the man wouldn’t be staying out of it.

  Well, damn. If I dodge, I won’t be able to avoid the tackle. But if I don’t, the brick will hit me and I’ll be back in the same position. I guess I’m going to have to risk it.

  It was a lose-lose situation, but at least he could stop one of them.

  The brick arced towards him, and his hand snapped out, slamming into the brick and knocking it off course. The next second, before he could ready himself, a force slammed into him. His ribs exploded in pain as the man took him off his feet and slammed him into the cobblestone with a crunch. The taste of blood filled his mouth.

  His vision swam briefly before a dull pain exploded across his cheek—then another, then another. His vision grew darker as the hits kept coming.

  His thoughts were a mess, incoherent and dizzy. But he had to get up, he had to move. He attempted to raise his arm to put up some kind of defence. Yet something gripped them. A force locked them in place as the pummelling continued.

  Eventually, it stopped.

  He couldn’t see, and the world was red. A warm dribble of blood slipped out of the corner of his mouth as he coughed, trying to speak. It was over now—that was good. He’d have a few more bruises to explain when he got back, but that was fine. Some whisky would help the pain.

  “You know, I’d thought I would have to get involved,” said a figure that stood over him. From the shape and the voice, anyone could tell it was Brulin. Even with the blurred red figure. “But I’ve recently broken through, and it wouldn’t have been much fun.”

  Just leave already. Why are you still here, gloating, you bastard?

  “It’s kinda sad, really. But our time together must end. Boss’s orders.” Brulin said.

  Cain wanted to groan. But moving any part of his body sparked a bout of pain.

  The next second, a sharp pain exploded in his gut. Something shredded his organs before being wrenched out and plunged in a second time. Cain wanted to scream, but not even his throat would comply.

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  “It’s been fun, Cain.” Brulin’s steps then retreated, along with several others.

  Cain wheezed. He couldn’t die here, he couldn’t. He had a family to look after—he had to get back to his kids. As a father, he needed to see them grow up, to laugh, to cry—he had to be there for all of it. He had to protect them. He… His thoughts became blurrier. Was this the end?

  —— —— —— ——

  Several minutes earlier, back at Hector’s home.

  Hector had followed Mirae to the garden, where she showed him that one of her plant boxes was rotting. The wood peeling back and blackening—parts of it having already turned to dirt. Though it was not surprising, it was bound to happen, eventually. The wood he’d taken from the dump wasn’t exactly high quality.

  So Hector spent a while scrounging through the shed looking for the right piece of wood to cut and replace it with—not that there were many options. A lot of the wood from a week ago was missing. No doubt his father was trying to do what little he could.

  But eventually, Hector found the right piece. He needed to fix the plant box and that hole in the hallway today. After all, Mirae had almost gotten hurt today already. But as he went to shave away at the wood, Hector paused.

  He dropped to one knee and tucked his head under the workbench. His face fell. The coin pouch was gone. If Mirae had taken it, that would be fine, but she would have said something by now. That could only mean. “By the Great Lakes. I’m going to be in my room for another week at least, aren’t I?”

  He got back to his feet and rested his hands on the workbench surface. What was he going to say to his father? He couldn’t just say he found it. No one dropped a coin pouch in the slums and just left it. No. He needed a better excuse.

  As Hector stood there, coming up with a way to explain the pouch. Yells came from outside the shed. They sounded as if they were on the other side of the garden. “Hector! Hector!” the voice called.

  “Lincoln?” Hector muttered in confusion. He pushed off the desk and walked out of the shed, shielding his eyes against the sun’s rays as the aroma of pink lilies tickled his nose. The flowers were in full bloom today.

  At the end of the garden, Lincoln was bent over, his hands on his knees as he panted. He’d been running? The boy glanced up, his eyes wide. “It’s your dad. He’s being attacked by the Collar gang!”

  Something clattered to the ground with a dull, reverberating clang. Hector’s head snapped towards the sound. There Mirae stood, her eyes wide and her hands over her mouth as tears streamed from her eyes. “Hector! It’s—”

  “Where?” Hector demanded, closing in on Lincoln as his heart hammered in his chest.

  The boy pushed off his knees and stumbled back as Hector stepped forward. “A-a few minutes down the street from the Muddust refinery. I can take you there just—”

  “Too slow.” Hector ripped on the [Volt Runner] Talent in the back of his mind, and energy snapped free, crackling through his legs. The static buzzed as he exploded off. Leaving the garden and shooting through the house’s front gate in seconds.

  He needed to be quicker. If he were lucky, he could change Mirae’s visions. Though there was also a chance this was another close call. But he couldn’t risk it—He wouldn’t.

  He zipped through the streets of the slum, the distance between him and the refinery melting away with each step he took. Several shouts and cries came from the people he passed. But that wasn’t his problem.

  A few seconds later, he skidded onto the street, which led to the refinery. Just a few feet down from him, a small crowd had gathered, all circling someone. Hector’s heart sank. That couldn’t be his dad—it had to be something else. He shot forward, shoving a few people to the side, many of them falling to the floor with a grunt.

  Once he was at the front of the crowd. He paused. Frozen.

  There, lying on the floor broken with blood pooling beneath him, was his father.

  Hector collapsed to the stone and shuffled forward. Then, scuffing his hands across the stone scooped up his father’s head, shuffling closer, and cradling it.

  “Dad! Dad,” He screamed, rubbing the man’s cheeks as tears pooled and streamed down his face, his vision blurring. “Dad, wake up!”

  “Hector?” his dad croaked, coughing and spitting up blood. “I’m sorry, son. I wasn’t strong enough.”

  “No. No, you are going to be fine,” Hector said. His gaze moved down his father’s body. The blood was thickest at his gut area, and from the looks of it, was still pooling. Even with him being in Gravity Forging Two, the damage was too much. He had to get to a healer, now.

  “Hold on, Dad, I’ll bring you to Miss Clearwater,” Hector said, tasting the salt as his tears streamed into his mouth. The woman would take an arm and a leg. But she could fix this. She could. His burns were nothing to her—this would be nothing to her.

  “No,” His father said, raising a hand and resting it on Hector’s hand, warm blood smearing over it. “It’s too late. You need to be strong now. I wanted more time, but it can no longer wait. Get home and go to the shed.” His father coughed, blood dribbling from his mouth as his hand slackened a little.

  “The shed? What are you talking about?” Hector asked. That was the least important thing right now. His dad needed to get out of here.

  “I need you to go to the old stump that rests behind it.” Cain’s grip on Hector’s hand tightened. “Place yours and your sister’s necklaces on it. You will understand more once you do. I’m sorry I won’t be there to guide you. Tell Mirae I love her—you two have to watch out for one another. From now on.”

  “Dad! Dad!” Hector screamed. “What are you talking about? You are going to be fine.”

  “Be strong for when your mother returns,” he muttered weakly.

  “I don’t want her. I need you. Dad. Dad!”

  His father wheezed one last time. His weak breath brushed past Hector’s cheek as his body slackened, and his hand fell to the cobblestone with a soft thump.

  No. You can’t. You can’t be gone.

  “Damn, that almost brought a tear to my eye,” a voice said. Hector’s head snapped up to find the dead man who had said that. The way he was feeling right now, he didn’t mind sending someone to join his father.

  Brulin stood there with a confident smile, shaking his head with a look of fake dismay.

  “Such a good and caring man. He really worked for his family—it’s a shame he’s gone now. He’ll be missed.” Brulin coughed into his fist. “But, in other news. Your family still has a debt to pay, and thanks to your little stunt in the Hay Quarter. It’s gone up.” He turned his head to the side, directing his attention to one of the men behind him. “So, how much is that now, Ron?”

  “About... I don’t know? Let’s just say twenty gold.” A man wearing slacks said, before letting out a light laugh and sliding his thumbs behind the straps holding his slacks up.

  “Damn,” Brulin said, before turning back to Hector. He brought a hand up and rubbed his bald head. “While I don’t think you will be able to, you’ve got six months to pay it off. When you fail… well, you and your sister should fetch a good price on the market.” Brulin laughed.

  “Who stabbed him?” Hector asked, his voice dropping.

  Brulin raised a brow. He glanced back at the men behind him before chuckling, “I don’t know why that matters, but. I finished sweet little Cain off, could have been quicker, but I’ve got a kind heart. I wanted to at least give you a chance to find him warm.”

  “Good,” Hector said. He slid his dad’s head from his lap and rested it gently on the cobblestone before getting to his feet. Brulin was wrong—it mattered. The stab wound had been what killed him. While the beating was bad, his dad could have lived.

  Brulin’s face scrunched in confusion. “Why is that good? Are you loopy?”

  “It’s good because I now know who I’ll be killing last.”