Not sure if it was the liquor or the hunger that made him brave, but he suddenly thought of something. He leaned in closer to Ash, lowering his voice.

  “Hypothetically,” Samael said, “how fast are you?”

  Ash’s eyes flicked to him.

  Then to the pot.

  Then back.

  A slow grin spread across his face.

  “I’ve been known to run without paying a tab or two.”

  Samael immediately had a good impression of this Ash guy.

  They both leaned slightly closer, shoulders almost touching; if someone in this world knew the phrase, this scene would describe what thick as thieves' looked like.

  Red saw it immediately and knew they were up to something.

  “No. Whatever you’re up to, don’t even think about it.”

  They looked at her briefly and dismissed her when they saw she wasn't going to be a team player.

  Samael muttered, “She turned her back twice already.”

  “Handle looks sturdy,” Ash replied quietly.

  “The ground's uneven to the left,” Samael added. “Better to cut right first, then double back.”

  Malachai glanced at them, eyes narrowing.

  “…Don’t.”

  Too late.

  Ash moved.

  Casual at first.

  Like he was just passing by.

  The woman tending the pot turned to grab something behind her.

  That was enough.

  Ash lunged, grabbed the entire pot by the handle—

  And ran.

  Samael was already there, grabbing the other side before the weight could tilt.

  Hot.

  Very hot.

  “HEY—!” the woman screamed.

  They ran.

  The liquid inside sloshed dangerously as they adjusted their grip mid-sprint. Unfortunately, neither of them had prepared for how hot the handle was, and they kept switching hands back and forth.

  “Right!” Samael hissed.

  Ash veered.

  Red swore and followed.

  Malachai moved automatically.

  Black Rose kept pace, shaking her head in disbelief.

  Shouting erupted behind them.

  Footsteps.

  A thrown object shattered against a wall near Ash’s shoulder.

  “Don’t drop it!” Samael snapped.

  “I’m not!” Ash shot back.

  They cut through a narrow passage, nearly clipping a stack of crates.

  Samael almost slipped in the mud, but tightened his grip instead.

  “Left now!”

  They turned sharply, then burst through a crowd that scattered at the sight of a flying pot and armed strangers.

  After two more turns, the shouting faded.

  Then disappeared.

  They slowed.

  Breathing hard.

  Still holding the pot between them.

  Ash looked at Samael.

  Samael looked at Ash.

  They both started laughing—

  Then immediately cried out in pain and dropped the pot.

  Malachai pinched the bridge of his nose in embarrassment.

  Black Rose watched them like she was trying to understand a new species.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Ash leaned down and sniffed the pot greedily.

  Red stared at them.

  “You two are idiots.”

  Steam still rose from the pot.

  Ash rubbed his burned palm against his shirt and crouched down eagerly.

  “Moment of truth.”

  He dipped his fingers in first, ignoring Red’s look, and scooped a bit into his mouth.

  He froze.

  His expression shifted slowly.

  Samael leaned forward. “Well?”

  Ash swallowed.

  “…It’s food.”

  “That wasn’t the question.”

  Samael grabbed a piece with his fingers and tried it.

  Instant regret.

  It tasted like boiled leather and something aggressively bitter. Half-cooked. Oversalted. Somehow bland at the same time.

  He stared into the pot.

  “What is this?”

  Black Rose leaned slightly closer, sniffed once, and said flatly, “Root scrap stew.”

  Red took a small bite.

  Her face didn’t change.

  “That explains it.”

  Ash looked offended. “It smells better than it tastes.”

  Samael swallowed again with visible effort.

  “This was not worth second-degree burns.”

  They all stared at the pot.

  Silence.

  Then Red looked up slowly.

  “…We don’t even have bowls.”

  Ash and Samael blinked. They both looked at each other, just now realizing the flaw in their plan.

  Malachai said nothing while He calmly reached into his robe and pulled out wooden bowls.

  Three of them.

  Then a fourth.

  Then a small ladle.

  Everyone stared at him.

  Ash squinted. “When—”

  “While you two were planning your theft,” Malachai replied calmly.

  Red looked at him differently for a second.

  Black Rose actually raised an eyebrow.

  “You stole those?” she asked.

  “I prefer ‘prepared,’” he answered.

  Ash pointed at him. “You judged us.”

  Samael looked between them.

  “You knew?”

  Malachai looked at him flatly.

  “You asked how fast he could run.”

  Fair.

  Ash grinned slowly.

  “This is why you're my favorite brother.”

  Malachai began calmly serving the disgusting stew into the bowls.

  “I am well aware, and I'm your only brother.”

  Red accepted one with complex emotions.

  Black Rose also accepted one due to her past as a crime boss; she held no moral dilemma.

  Samael stared at his portion.

  It looked worse in a bowl.

  He sighed.

  “Well,” he muttered, “crime doesn’t even pay well here.”

  Ash took a big slurp anyway.

  Winced.

  Chewed.

  Swallowed.

  “…Still better than starving.”

  Samael reluctantly took another bite of something chewy.

  It was absolutely disgusting.

  But it was warm. And for now, that was enough.

  Ash was mid-chew when a voice cut through the narrow alley.

  “Miss Rose…?”

  “Miss Rose… is that you?”

  Black Rose stiffened but didn’t respond.

  The voice faltered, unsure.

  “…Miss Rose?”

  There was confusion in it now. Uncertainty. Like the speaker wasn’t sure whether he was looking at a ghost or a memory.

  Everyone turned.

  Standing at the mouth of the alley was a large youth —round-faced, thick-necked, layered in fabrics that had once been expensive and still tried very hard to be. Rings clung to his fingers. A gold chain rested against his chest, slightly strained.

  This was Fatty Cash.

  He earned the name long ago—not as mockery, but as proof of his abilities. He handled the financial arteries of Black Rose Tower. Contracts, bribes, trade routes, laundering, and acquisition. If the coin moved, he knew where it came from and where it was going. If profit could be squeezed from stone, he would find the pressure point.

  And for as long as anyone had known him—

  He had never lost weight.

  Not even from the constant gang wars or from the generous amount of time he spent in whorehouses across three districts.

  If anything, he looked heavier; he was actually on his way back from such a visit when he saw the familiar figure of the boss lady.

  “…It is you, boss, what are you doing in District 98?” Fatty Cash said

  Ash glanced sideways at Black Rose.

  “Do you know him?”

  “Yes,” she answered simply. “He handled finances in the Tower.”

  That was all she needed to say.

  Samael and Ash’s eyes lit up instantly. They were just recently worried about money and thinking there was never going to be a chance that they would run into this guy who could have known he would deliver himself to them instead.

  They slowly set their bowls down.

  Then, simultaneously, they began slowly walking toward Fatty Cash.

  “Good evening,” Ash said casually, both hands raised while eyeing fatty cash up and down. “You look… prosperous,”

  Samael stepped slightly to the other side, hands also raised in what he hoped was a calming motion, not wanting to spook their future meal ticket.

  Fatty Cash’s small, beady eyes shifted between them.

  “…And you are?”

  Ash gave him a polite smile.

  “Friends.”

  Samael nodded once.

  “Associates.”

  They continued closing the distance.

  Fatty Cash instinctively adjusted his grip on the ledger tucked under his arm.

  Ash stopped just within comfortable conversation range.

  “We’ve heard of you,” Ash said casually. “Didn’t expect to find you working the street yourself.”

  Samael gave a small nod.

  “Most men at your level don’t.”

  Behind them, Red could be heard muttering under her breath.

  Fatty Cash’s posture changed almost instantly upon hearing the praise coming his way.

  His chin lifted.

  Shoulders rolled back.

  The ledger shifted higher under his arm like a badge instead of a notebook.

  “Word sure travels,” he said, trying not to sound pleased.

  His stomach tightened slightly as he straightened.

  “People know who keeps things moving around here.”

  His eyes flicked briefly toward Black Rose again.

  Then back to the two of them.

  His expression shifted.

  “I was actually just about to…” he said softly.

  The two leaned forward slightly to hear him better.

  Fatty Cash immediately turned around and bolted.

  For a man his size, he moved disturbingly fast.

  As he ran, he scoffed to himself.

  You think you can trick this young master?

  How could he not see something was off? The boss lady was a Tier One. She rarely stepped into the slums herself, and when she did, she never came alone. There were always men around her. The people around her right now are all new faces; he was responsible for paying everyone. How can he not tell something isn’t right?

  Something had gone wrong, and when he thought of how he was almost probably kidnanpped He pumped his arms harder.

  This handsome youngster did not survive District 98 by whispering in men’s ears. What were they thinking, bringing their sweaty faces that close to his?

  He kept the ledger tucked tightly under his arm, rings flashing as he pumped his arms, layers of fabric flapping as he barreled toward the mouth of the alley.

  Ash blinked once.

  “…Motherf—”

  Samael was already moving.

  “ We can’t let him get away.”

  Ash sprinted straight ahead while Samael veered right, boots scraping against uneven stone as he used the wall to pivot and take a tighter angle.

  Fatty Cash was quick—but he wasn’t built for sharp turns.

  He tried to hook left into a side passage.

  Ash was already there.

  He stepped directly into his path.

  Fatty Cash skidded, nearly colliding with him, then tried to turn around—

  Ash grabbed a fistful of expensive fabric from behind.

  The cloth strained ominously.

  “Stop moving,” Ash said angrily, slightly out of breath.

  Fatty Cash twisted with surprising force.

  Samael moved in calmly and caught the ledger before it slipped from under the man’s arm.

  Malachai arrived last, watching the scene unfold.

  Red looked at them, unimpressed.

  Black Rose watched, wondering if she should help, but she knew she couldn’t with Red right there.

  Ash tightened his grip on the man's clothes.

  “Do you take us for thieves?” he said lightly, “Running implies we were going to rob you.”

  The others rolled their eyes, thinking, didn’t you just steal something earlier?.

  Fatty Cash glared between them.

  “You were walking at me like debt collectors.”

  Samael brushed dust off the ledger and flipped it open casually.

  “Debt collectors are far less polite.”

  Fatty Cash calmed down slightly at that.

  Ash leaned in just a bit closer.

  “If we wanted your coin,” he said calmly, “you wouldn’t have made it three steps.”

  Fatty Cash studied his face.

  Then glanced past them to Black Rose.

  “…Miss Black,” he said carefully, “are these men yours?”

  “kind of.” Black Rose Said looking down

  Fatty Cash’s shoulders lowered a fraction.

  Samael closed the ledger gently.

  “What is this chicken scratch you have written in here?” he said in annoyance.

  Fatty Cash looked from one to the other, ignoring the insult.

  “…so this is about money.”

  Ash and Samael answered at the same time.

  “Yes.”

  Silence.

  Then—

  Fatty Cash exhaled slowly through his nose.

  “…You could have started with that instead of stalking me like alley predators. I thought you guys wanted my body.”

  Silence.

  Then every single person in the alley looked at him with the same expression.

  Annoyance.

  Ash’s face went flat immediately.

  Samael closed his eyes for a second, like he was reconsidering every decision that led him here.

  Red groaned audibly and dragged a hand down her face.

  Malachai looked vaguely offended on principle.

  Black Rose didn’t react—but the temperature around her dropped.

  Ash released his sleeve just enough to stare at him properly.

  “…Stupid fatty,” he said dryly. “Stop playing around.”

  Samael added without missing a beat, “Who would want your body?”

  Fatty Cash looked mildly offended.

  “I am considered desirable in certain financial circles.”

  “That sentence made it worse,” Red muttered.

  Ash pointed at him lazily.

  “We want your money. Your routes. Your brain. In that order.”

  Samael nodded once, ignoring the brain part of the request.

  “Preferably all intact.”

  A pause.

  Fatty Cash looked between their completely unamused faces.

  Then sighed.

  “…Alright,” he admitted. “That makes more sense.”

  Malachai pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking about this guy's ridiculous imagination.