The rain hadn't stopped. If anything, it had grown heavier, turning the city into a maze of glistening streets and neon reflections. Ochieng pulled the hood of his jacket tighter over his head as he approached the abandoned warehouse.
This place had history. A decade ago, it had been the headquarters of a smuggling ring. Now, it was nothing but crumbling walls and echoes of past crimes.
The moment he stepped inside, the scent of damp concrete and rust filled his nostrils.
Then—a voice from the shadows.
"You're late."
Tilda stepped forward, her silhouette sharp against the dim moonlight filtering through broken windows. She wore all black, her leather gloves gripping the handle of a sleek pistol.
Ochieng exhaled. "You expected me to run?"
She smirked. "You always were the type to bolt when things got messy."
He clenched his jaw but said nothing.
Tilda circled him, her eyes calculating. "You said you need my help. That's new. The Ochieng I remember never needed anyone."
"Things change."****"And people?" she shot back.
Ochieng hesitated. "Sometimes."
A long silence stretched between them. Then, Tilda nodded toward a dark corner. "You're not the only one looking for answers."
Ochieng turned—and his stomach tightened.
Bruno. Rolex. Eugene. Gideon.
Four ghosts from his past. Four men who had every reason to want him dead.
The warehouse door slammed shut.
No way out.
"Let's talk business," Tilda said.
---