Night came down hard on the slums.
Not gentle, not gradual just a sudden drop into darkness, as if someone smothered the sun with a greasy hand. Lanterns flickered awake across broken alleyways, lighting up faces that shouldn't be seen and deals that shouldn't be heard.
Vyre and Kaze slipped out of the orphanage like shadows that had finally decided to leave the wall.
The matron was still gone with Joren.
The children left behind whispered fear into the wooden floorboards, as if the building itself might listen.
Kaze pulled his hood up.
"So… we start with information?"
Vyre nodded.
"Information. Then target selection. No connection to the orphanage. No mistakes."
"Right. Professional criminals. Smooth, silent, stealthy "
"You're talking too loud."
"Sorry."
They moved deeper into the night the part of the slum that swallowed children whole. Past dice tables. Past bruised men cursing over empty pockets. Past chalk symbols marking territories and warnings. Here, eyes followed them the way wolves watched limping prey.
When they reached the Night Market, the slum's heart beat louder. Illegal tonics, shadow brokers, loan sharks everyone hustling, lying, surviving.
Kaze whispered, "We need someone who knows everything… but won't sell us out."
"Callo," Vyre said.
Kaze winced. "The whisper dealer? He's um unsettling."
"He doesn't serve barons. He serves outcomes."
"And we don't have money."
"We have something better."
Kaze blinked. "Which is…?"
"Truth. Adults hide lies behind walls. Kids hear them because walls have cracks."
Kaze smirked. "Right. We're small, not blind."
But when they turned down Callo's regular alley, they both stopped dead.
He was already there.
Leaning against the grimy brick wall, arms crossed, coat half open, a toothpick lazily rolling between his lips.
A smile that didn't reach his eyes.
Callo.
Young not older than early twenties but with the posture of someone who already understood the slum better than most elders. Too smart for his age, too calm for his environment. People didn't speak his name loudly. They spoke it the way someone might mention a plague they hoped would pass them by.
He pushed himself off the wall, not in a hurry.
"Well," Callo said, voice light and sharp, "seems I walked into a rather intriguing conversation."
Kaze instantly panicked. "W-we weren't we didn't it's not "
"Planning a job," Callo finished for him smoothly. "A bold one."
Kaze's mouth clamped shut.
Vyre didn't break eye contact.
Callo tapped the toothpick against his teeth. "Relax. If I wanted trouble, I'd have brought men. Or knives."
A pause.
"But I didn't."
He walked closer, studying their faces the way a strategist studies a battlefield.
"Kaze," Callo said, "you're easy. No offense. You wear your emotions like stained clothes. I can read you from across a street."
He tilted his head at Vyre.
"But your friend? He's… interesting."
Kaze blinked. "Interesting how?"
Callo ignored him.
His gaze sharpened.
"What are you two doing out here? At night. In my alley. Whispering about targets?"
Vyre answered calmly, "That's our business."
Callo smiled. "Everything in the slums is my business."
A beat of silence stretched.
Then:
"We need information," Vyre finally said.
"And why," Callo asked, stepping in close enough that the boys smelled the tin of his toothpick, "would two orphans be seeking intel on slum barons?"
Kaze swallowed.
"For a friend. Someone's sick. Badly. We need money for medicine."
Callo's eyes flicked between the two.
"And you think theft is the solution?"
He chuckled. "Children these days dream bigger crimes than adults."
"It's not a dream," Vyre said.
"No," Callo agreed softly, "it's desperation."
He walked past them, then paused.
"Alright. Tell me exactly what you're after."
Vyre stayed firm. "A target that won't retaliate against the orphanage."
"And someone with coin."
Callo laughed an amused, dangerous sound.
"You want me to hand you the least explosive option in a field of dynamite? And why would I do that?"
Vyre answered immediately.
"Because we have information from Dr. Malvor's clinic. About the outbreak."
Callo stopped walking.
Slowly turned.
"…Talk."
Vyre repeated every overheard detail with eerie clarity. Kaze watched Callo's expression shift interest, calculation, appreciation, hunger.
When Vyre finished, Callo exhaled.
"Well. That explains why you walk with such confidence. You have a memory that bleeds like ink."
"Payment enough?" Vyre asked.
Callo grinned.
"It buys you my attention. Not the answer."
Kaze groaned. "Seriously?"
Callo lifted a finger.
"You're asking me to give you a name. Not just any name a name that won't result in corpses in your orphanage. That kind of intel has a price."
"What price?" Vyre asked.
Callo stepped closer, his tone softening in a way that was somehow more dangerous.
"A favor."
Kaze tensed. "We're not joining a gang."
"That's the beauty," Callo said. "No strings attached. No debt. No banners. I don't want you in my pocket."
He tapped his chest lightly.
"I want something retrieved."
"What?" Vyre asked.
Callo's smile sharpened.
"A relic. A very small, very dull, very unimportant metal plate. Stamped with strange symbols. Worthless to most."
His eyes gleamed.
"But valuable to me."
"And who has it?" Vyre asked.
Callo slowly leaned back.
"Lufton."
Kaze blinked. "The Relic Monger?"
"Mm." Callo nodded. "The paranoid little rat who sleeps beside his coin like it's a lover."
"Why does he have something you want?" Vyre asked.
Callo shrugged casually.
"Because he steals from scavengers, buys from idiots, and hoards junk he doesn't understand. And because I am not the only one in the slum who distrusts him."
He folded his arms.
"You get into his warehouse. You take the coin you need. And while you're there… you bring me the metal plate. Simple."
Kaze frowned. "That's it? No allegiance? No oath? No follow-up cost?"
Callo smiled too quickly.
"No strings attached."
Vyre stared at him.
"Why us?"
Callo's eyes glinted.
"Because adults can't fit into Lufton's crawl-space entrance."
"Because you two are small, quiet, and desperate."
"And because desperate people are predictable in a useful way."
He reached into his coat, pulled out a crude sketch-map, and handed it to Vyre.
"Warehouse entrance here. A narrow chute near the back wall. Only children will fit."
He tapped the map again.
"His alarm system is primitive bells on wires. Easy to disarm if you're careful."
"And the vault?" Vyre asked.
Callo smirked.
"He leaves it open every night. Paranoia makes him count his coin obsessively."
Kaze blinked. "That's… weirdly convenient."
Callo's grin widened.
"Nothing in the slums is convenient. Just timed."
He stepped backward, toothpick rolling again.
"One relic plate. That's all I want."
"And if we refuse?" Vyre asked.
Callo shrugged.
"Then I forget this conversation happened. And you can try your luck with another baron one who won't hesitate to burn down an orphanage."
Silence.
Kaze bit his lip.
"…We'll do it."
Vyre didn't blink.
"Where exactly in the warehouse is the relic plate?"
Callo's gaze sharpened.
"So you're accepting."
"We're accepting."
Callo nodded once, slowly.
"In the back room. Third shelf. Blue cloth. Small metal plate, rusted edges. Bring it to me and only me."
He stepped into the darkness of the alley.
Right before he disappeared, he said:
"You two walk like children… but you choose like wolves. Don't disappoint me."
Then he vanished.
Vyre and Kaze stood alone in the cold air.
Kaze shivered.
"Vyre… this guy is dangerous."
"I know."
"And we're stealing from someone he wants us to steal from."
"I know."
"And we're probably walking into a trap."
"I know."
Kaze exhaled.
"…Okay. Just checking."
They began the long walk back to the orphanage two boys about to cross a line that people never uncross.
The slum watched, hungry.