Wildcard lay on a thin, lumpy cot, staring up at the ceiling of his new reality. The metal roof above him was stained with rust and grime, and somewhere in the distance, he could hear the low murmur of voices—Dominos talking, laughing, arguing.

  He flexed his fingers. Still nothing. No power.

  It had been hours now. Maybe longer.

  His abilities had always rotated, sometimes useless, sometimes game-changing. But this? This felt different. It wasn’t just the absence of power. It was the silence inside him.

  A silence that was beginning to feel permanent.

  He tried to ignore the weight in his chest.

  Instead, he focused on what came next.

  He had bought himself a spot here. But a spot wasn’t security. He was a low-rank goon in the Dominos, a faction built on hierarchy and ruthless efficiency. No power meant no edge. No edge meant no future.

  The thought gnawed at him.

  His door rattled.

  "Get up, newbie," Isla’s voice called from the other side. "Cortez wants you."

  Wildcard sighed and swung his legs off the cot.

  Cortez’s office was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of dust and old paper. A single desk lamp illuminated the worn ledger in front of him, its pages covered in neat, methodical handwriting.

  Cortez barely glanced up as Wildcard and Isla entered.

  "You did the job," he said. "You’re still standing."

  Wildcard shrugged. "I try."

  Cortez’s fingers tapped against the desk. "I expect the same for what comes next."

  Wildcard raised an eyebrow. "Oh? More glorified errand work?"

  Cortez’s lips curled slightly. "You could call it that."

  A man stepped forward from the shadows of the room. Wildcard hadn’t even noticed him at first—tall, broad, quiet, like a statue that had just decided to move.

  "Jasper," Cortez said, motioning toward him. "You’ll be helping him today."

  Jasper’s expression didn’t change. He just looked Wildcard up and down. "Another mouth to feed."

  "Another set of hands," Cortez corrected. "You’re going to remind someone why debts get paid on time."

  Wildcard sighed internally. Another collection job.

  He had a feeling this one wouldn’t go as smoothly as Rigo.

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  The streets of the shantytown felt even heavier than before. Maybe it was the lack of sleep, maybe it was the soreness in his ribs, but Wildcard’s paranoia was rising.

  People watched from behind cracked windows and rusted metal doorways. Some ducked away as they passed. Others just stared, expressionless and empty.

  "Who are we dealing with?" Wildcard asked, glancing at Jasper.

  "A man named Callow," Jasper grunted. "Used to be with Cortez before he thought he could do better."

  "Ah," Wildcard said. "One of those guys."

  Jasper nodded. "Took a payout, ran, and now he’s acting like the debt doesn’t exist."

  They turned a corner, stepping into a narrow alley lined with old scaffolding and makeshift homes. The air smelled like burnt oil and rotting food.

  At the end of the alley, two men stood outside a barricaded shopfront.

  One was short and wiry, arms covered in faded tattoos. The other was built like a slab of concrete, arms crossed over his chest.

  Jasper walked forward without hesitation. "Callow."

  The short one looked up, sneering. "Cortez really sent you after me? I thought he was done wasting time."

  Wildcard didn’t miss the way Callow’s fingers twitched toward his belt. He was armed. So was the bigger one.

  This wasn’t going to be a friendly chat.

  Wildcard’s jaw clenched. He needed an angle. A play. Something.

  And then it hit.

  The sensation crawled up his spine, slow and deliberate, like the first inhale of a storm. His breath caught, his pulse thumped once—

  New ability acquired.

  Wildcard inhaled sharply. Boosted Intimidation.

  His presence changed immediately.

  It wasn’t just the way he stood, the way he spoke—it was the air itself. His words carried weight. His stare carried pressure.

  He met Callow’s gaze.

  "That payout you ran off with," Wildcard said. His voice was calm, steady—but it sliced through the alley like a blade. "That was a loan. A favor. And Cortez doesn’t deal in favors."

  Callow blinked. The sneer faltered.

  Wildcard stepped forward. Not fast, not aggressive. Just purposeful. Inevitable.

  "Now you’re acting like you can just walk away," he continued. "Like that debt just disappeared." He tilted his head slightly. "That’s not how this works."

  Callow’s throat bobbed.

  Wildcard could see the doubt flickering behind his eyes. The second-guessing. The hesitation.

  Good.

  "You either settle things with Cortez," Wildcard said, his voice low, measured, "or you settle things with us. Right now."

  He let the words sink in. Let Callow feel them.

  The alley felt smaller. Tighter. Heavier.

  The big guy—Callow’s muscle—shifted uncomfortably.

  Callow licked his lips. "I… I just need more time."

  "No," Wildcard said. "You don’t."

  The tension coiled. Ready to snap.

  Then Callow did something stupid.

  His hand darted for the knife at his belt.

  Jasper moved first.

  A gunshot cracked through the alley.

  Callow screamed, clutching his leg as he crumpled to the ground. Blood pooled beneath him, steaming on the cold pavement.

  His muscle didn’t even reach for his own weapon. He just stared down at Callow, wide-eyed.

  Wildcard crouched next to the fallen man, voice quiet.

  "You don’t get ‘more time,’" he murmured. "You get ‘now.’"

  Callow nodded frantically, teeth clenched in pain.

  Jasper holstered his gun. "Cortez expects the full amount. Today."

  Callow didn’t argue.

  Wildcard stood, shaking out his hands. The pressure in his voice, in his stance, was already fading.

  That was fine. It had done its job.

  "Come on," Jasper muttered, turning away.

  Wildcard followed, not looking back.

  Cortez watched them carefully when they returned.

  Jasper spoke first. "Callow got the message."

  Cortez nodded slightly. "And you?" he asked, looking at Wildcard.

  Wildcard smiled faintly. "I made myself clear."

  Cortez’s fingers drummed once against the desk. Then, slowly, he leaned back.

  "Good."

  Nothing else. No praise. No deeper acknowledgment.

  But Wildcard could feel it.

  He was being watched. Evaluated. Measured.

  And for now?

  He was still in the game.