Chapter 3

    The gunfire cracked like thunder, sharp and quick, splitting the air wide open. It was the sound of choices being made in a language no one ever wanted to speak, a deadly staccato of men with their backs against the wall, waving sweet irons in the cold dawn.

    I didn’t wait for Madeleine to move. Instinct kicked in—dive, duck, find cover. I hit the ground behind an overturned barrel, the smell of oil and rust filling my nose. Beside me, Madeleine was already crouching low, her hand on the small of her back where she always kept her own piece. A lady with plans, always one step ahead.

    “I told you to be ready,” she muttered.

    “I was born ready,” I shot back, eyes scanning the yard for a way out. But it was too late for that now. They’d boxed us in like animals. The foundry gates were shut, and the alleyways funneled us into a corner, iron bars turning into a cage. A small group of shadows moved in the rain, their footsteps soft against the concrete. The men with the guns were here, and they didn’t look like they were in a talking mood.

    Madeleine raised her pistol, quick and steady. She wasn’t one for hesitation. One of the shadows fell, a clean shot through the chest, crumpling in a heap. The others scattered, but I knew it wouldn’t hold for long. They were waiting for something. Or someone.

    Just then, something shifted in the air. A new kind of stillness—like the calm that comes just before a storm tears everything apart. I could feel it, crawling up the back of my neck, like we were suddenly at the mercy of something bigger than the sweet irons pointed at us. A wish, maybe. The kind you make when you know you’re in over your head and there’s no way out.

    The foundry had always felt like a place the world forgot, overgrown with ivy that crawled over its rusted walls, like nature trying to reclaim what men had built and abandoned. The rain had started again, heavy, pounding the ivy-covered windows and making everything shimmer. But even in that dull light, I could see movement.

    There, across the yard, just beyond the pear tree that leaned like it had grown tired of standing, he appeared.

    Achilles.

    He wasn’t running like the others. He wasn’t waving a gun or ducking for cover. He moved slow, steady, like a man who had already won the fight and was just here to collect his prize. He wore the same damn hat, still tilted low, casting his face in shadow. But the way he moved, the way the air seemed to bend around him, told me that this was no ordinary man. Achilles was something else. Something more.

    “They’re afraid of him,” Madeleine whispered, her eyes fixed on the approaching figure. “He’s not just a man. Not anymore.”

    The men who had come with the guns were retreating now, slipping back into the shadows, their courage washed away by the rain and the presence of the man who didn’t need a weapon to make them afraid. They melted into the night like ghosts who’d lost their reason to haunt.

    Achilles didn’t stop until he was standing in front of us, close enough for me to feel the weight of his presence. His face was as cold as the wind that whipped through the yard, his eyes like dark glass, reflecting nothing.

    “You should’ve stayed out of this,” he said, his voice low, like gravel scraping across the road.

    I stood up slowly, my body stiff from the crouch, but my hand stayed close to my side, near the piece I hadn’t drawn yet. “Seems like you have a way of pulling people in, whether they want to be here or not.”

    He didn’t smile, didn’t even blink. “I didn’t pull anyone. You came looking for me.”

    Madeleine stepped forward, her hand still tight around her gun. “He’s not the one you want,” she said, her voice sharper than I’d ever heard it. “This is between you and me, Achilles. Leave him out of it.”

    Achilles turned his gaze on her, but there was no anger there. No hate. Just something colder, something final. “You’ve been running a long time, Madeleine,” he said softly. “But the wheel turns. It always turns.”

    I didn’t like the way he said that. Like he knew something we didn’t. Like there was no more running to be done. Only landing—crashing into the earth after a long fall.

    “You want me?” she said, her voice steady now. “Then let’s end it. Right here.”

    But Achilles shook his head, slow and deliberate. “Not yet. It’s not time.”

    With that, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the rain, as if he’d never been there at all. The ivy clung to the walls of the foundry like it was holding the place together, but I could feel the cracks widening, feel the weight of everything starting to crumble. The pear tree swayed in the wind, its branches brushing the ground, and for a moment, I wondered how long it would take for the city to swallow us whole.

    Madeleine holstered her gun and lit another cigarette, her hands shaking just enough for me to notice. She didn’t say a word. Neither did I.

    We stood there for a long time, listening to the rain and the distant hum of the city beyond, wondering what kind of wish Achilles had made, and how long it would be before we found out what it really meant.

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