Prince barely slept.
The Trackhawk.
The scar-faced messenger.
The city humming with invisible danger.
Everything clung to his thoughts like smoke.
By the time the sun finally broke through the blinds, Prince's muscles still felt wired, coiled, ready for something he couldn't name. He stood at the window, staring at the grey stretch of streets below. Nothing moved. But the silence felt staged.
He dressed without thinking, going through the motions like a soldier in routine. Hoodie. Tracksuit bottoms. Gloves stuffed into his bag. He left his flat and walked into the crisp morning air.
London felt different again.
Like a beast breathing just behind the buildings.
Prince kept his pace steady, eyes sharp but relaxed, refusing to look hunted. A man who looked hunted became prey. A man who walked like nothing was wrong became a problem.
Only the problems survived.
Halfway down the street, he passed a roadwork barrier that hadn't been there yesterday. No workers. No trucks. Just cones and a sign blocking off the path. Prince paused, studying it. The paint was too clean. No dirt marks. No scratches. Even the cones were spotless.
A setup.
He stepped off the pavement and crossed the street without slowing, refusing to show he'd noticed. Cars rolled by. A bus hissed to a stop. The city pretended to be normal.
But it wasn't.
Prince took the long way to the gym Morgan's advice. But every turn felt like someone had already predicted his detours.
At one corner, a CCTV camera was twisted upward toward the sky.
At another, a police van sat empty, lights off, doors closed, no officers in sight.
At the next, a fox scavenged through a bin, freezing when it saw him before darting away silently, unnerved for reasons it couldn't understand.
Prince's pulse stayed steady, but his senses sharpened.
Something was closing in.
When he reached the gym, he expected quiet. Early mornings were usually slow. But today the place was buzzing. Fighters gathered around someone near the ring. Voices murmured. Shoes scraped the mats.
Prince stepped inside.
Everyone turned.
Navarro stood in the center of the gym.
Not his fighters.
Not his security.
Navarro himself.
Gold chain. Leather jacket. Face carved with calm that looked expensive.
Prince blinked once, then walked forward.
Morgan stood beside Navarro, tension written across his jaw.
Prince stopped a few steps away. "Didn't know you were a morning person."
Navarro smirked faintly. "Danger doesn't keep office hours."
Prince kept his expression unreadable. "What do you want?"
Navarro's eyes scanned the room before returning to him. "Information. And to give you some."
Morgan stepped closer. "We're doing this here? Out in the open?"
Navarro shrugged. "Anywhere else and it looks like conspiracy. Here, it looks like business."
Prince crossed his arms. "Talk."
Navarro studied him for a long moment, as if deciding how much truth Prince deserved.
Then he said quietly, "The message on your wall wasn't from Ruiz's camp."
The gym went silent.
Prince's brows narrowed. "You sure?"
"Positive." Navarro's tone sharpened. "Ruiz is ruthless, but he's not stupid. Threatening you publicly before a fight? That risks scrutiny… and Ruiz hates scrutiny."
Prince's heartbeat thudded once, heavy.
"Then who sent it?"
Navarro exhaled slowly. "Someone new. Someone moving in shadows even I can't fully trace."
Morgan muttered under his breath. "Perfect."
Navarro continued, "We've been intercepting unusual activity. Money transfers. Illegal logistics. New faces entering areas where old hands used to run the streets. Someone is building something… quietly."
Prince stared at him. "And they want me out of the way?"
Navarro gave a single nod. "Yes."
Prince absorbed that.
It didn't make sense.
"Why me?" he asked.
Morgan answered before Navarro could. "Because you're becoming visible. Influential. Winning your fights. Making noise. And noise isn't good for people who want to move silently."
Navarro added, "You're also connected to me by rumor if nothing else. In the underworld, perception is often treated as truth."
Prince clenched his jaw. "I didn't ask for that."
"And it doesn't matter," Navarro replied. "You're in it now."
Prince looked down briefly, letting the information sink like a stone.
When he looked back up, Navarro's eyes were cold, assessing. "But that's not the reason I'm here."
Morgan frowned. "Then what is?"
Navarro's expression shifted.
"Ruiz's camp made a move last night."
Prince's stomach tightened. "What kind of move?"
Navarro's voice lowered. "A dirty one. They're trying to force the fight to change venues."
Morgan's head snapped around. "Why?"
Navarro hesitated, weighing his words.
"Because Ruiz wants to fight you somewhere he controls. Somewhere where the judges, the officials, the environment… all tilt in his favor."
Prince stepped closer. "That wasn't the agreement."
Navarro nodded. "I know. That's why I'm telling you before it becomes public."
Prince felt heat rising in his chest. "What are they trying to pull?"
Navarro reached into his coat and pulled out a folded envelope. He handed it to Prince. "Read."
Prince opened it.
Inside was a printed document official seal, legal signatures, and a headline:
PROPOSED CHANGE OF VENUE: RUIZ VS. PRINCE
LIVERPOOL DOCKLAND ARENA
Morgan swore under his breath. "That place is a fortress. Ruiz grew up there. Half the judges owe him favors."
Navarro said, "They're trying to box you in literally."
Prince stared at the paper, jaw tightening.
He had trained too hard. Fought too much. Survived too many shadows to let bureaucratic manipulation tilt the fight.
He folded the document calmly.
"What's the timeline?" he asked.
Navarro answered, "They'll push it through by the end of the week unless someone stops it."
Prince nodded once. "Then let's stop it."
Navarro raised an eyebrow. "That simple?"
Prince looked him dead in the eye.
"It is for me."
The room fell quiet again fighters watching him not with surprise, but admiration. Prince wasn't a celebrity. Wasn't a champion yet. But the way he stood… the way he owned the moment…
Something about him radiated a leader's gravity.
Navarro noticed too.
A slow smile touched his lips. "You remind me of someone."
Prince didn't ask who.
Morgan broke the silence, clapping his hands sharply. "Enough politics. Prince, you're late for drills."
Prince nodded. "Let's get it."
Navarro stepped back. "One more thing."
Prince looked at him.
Navarro's voice dropped low. "The man in the Trackhawk who spoke to you yesterday… avoid him."
Prince stiffened slightly. "You know him?"
Navarro's eyes darkened.
"He's not a messenger.
He's not a scout.
He's not a threat."
Prince frowned. "Then what is he?"
Navarro's answer was quiet.
A quiet that held danger.
"He's a ghost.
The kind even criminals refuse to name."
The hairs on Prince's neck rose.
Navarro added, "If he approached you directly… then things are worse than I thought."
Prince absorbed the weight of those words, feeling the ground shift beneath him.
Navarro turned to leave, pausing at the door. "Stay alive, Prince. People are making plans with your name on them."
Then he walked out.
Morgan watched him go, then looked at Prince. "You hear that?"
Prince nodded. "Yeah."
"Good," Morgan said. "Because today we train like someone out there wants to bury you."
Prince cracked his neck, eyes sharpening.
"They're gonna have to dig deep."