That night, when Lynn had finished his business at the outhouse and was returning alone toward the woodshed, the narrow way between the leaning sheds and broken walls closed upon him like a trap. From the shadows stepped two men, hard-eyed and sharp-smiled, confidants of Ghost Fox. In their hands, daggers caught the moonlight, pale and pitiless.
"Boy," one hissed, voice thick with malice, "blame only yourself for being too clever."
The blade flashed.
Lynn's heart thundered within his chest. He had never thought Ghost Fox would dare strike so openly, so near the gang's own grounds. Had the deputy truly cast aside all fear of One-Eyed Wolf's wrath?
Yet this place lay apart from the main quarters. The woodshed stood alone, distant from the dens of the thugs. If help did not come swiftly, this alley would be his grave, and the night would swallow his name without a sound.
Instinct moved him before thought. He flung the parchment ledger he carried straight into the attacker's face and rolled aside as the dagger whistled past where his body had been. Cold air brushed his skin.
"Skinny Monkey! Save me!"
His cry tore through the night.
From the woodshed, Skinny Monkey burst forth, hesitation flickering only for a breath before he raised his short stick and charged. He bore One-Eyed Wolf's command upon his shoulders. Lynn was not to die.
Two against two, but the balance was cruel. Skinny Monkey could barely hold one foe at bay, while Lynn's body, only newly hardened, was no match for men who lived by the blade. One thug entangled Skinny Monkey, driving him back, while the other lunged for Lynn again, intent on ending it swiftly.
As the dagger came for his belly, something cold and merciless kindled in Lynn's eyes.
He did not retreat.
He stepped in.
Clutched in his right hand was the charcoal pen he always carried. With all the strength his frail frame could muster, he drove it upward into the hollow beneath the man's arm, where flesh was soft and pain was king.
A scream split the darkness.
The thug shrieked and recoiled, fingers spasming as the dagger fell and rang upon the stones. Lynn followed without pause, driving his knee upward with desperate fury. The man crumpled.
Lynn seized Skinny Monkey by the arm.
"Run!"
They fled together, stumbling toward the living quarters as shouts rose behind them. Guards poured from the shadows, weapons drawn, and gave chase to the fleeing assassins. Lynn, blood running freely from the cut upon his arm, dragged Skinny Monkey straight toward the chamber of the gang leader.
Pain meant nothing. Survival was all.
One-Eyed Wolf was torn from his sleep, wrath blazing like a forge-fire in his single eye.
"Boss!" Lynn cried, ripping his sleeve to bare the wound. "Ghost Fox sent men to kill me!"
The sight of blood, the sight of fear upon Lynn's face, and the ragged breath of Skinny Monkey fed the storm rising within One-Eyed Wolf.
"Wake them all," he growled. "Arm every hand. Tonight, we cleanse the den."
A cruel smile twisted his mouth.
"Does Ghost Fox truly believe the title of leader upon my brow is for show?"
That night, Lynn was hidden within the gang leader's chamber, guarded and alive. A blonde girl lingered there, bold as flame and shameless in her teasing, but Lynn kept his thoughts chained. He quieted his restless heart by wandering the halls of knowledge within his mind, turning pages only he could see, until the night finally passed.
At dawn, the reckoning was revealed.
Ghost Fox and more than a dozen of his closest followers were found cast into the mass grave beyond the city walls. Those lesser men who had followed him were spared and taken back beneath One-Eyed Wolf's rule. Blood had been spilled, and the Blood Hand Gang stood whole again, its grip tighter them ever.
Lynn rose with the tide.
He was moved from the broken woodshed into the former chambers of the deputy himself, and those who once whispered that he would not survive now lowered their eyes when he passed. One-Eyed Wolf leaned upon him more heavily than ever, trusting his numbers, his methods, and his cold efficiency.
And Lynn, freed from Ghost Fox's shadow, grew bolder.
Gold flowed more freely into his own hidden coffers. From the streets, he gathered orphans and beggar-children with no names and no shelter. He fed them, clothed them, and in return, they became his eyes and ears. The clever ones he sent to seek rumors of wizards and forgotten lore; the strong he quietly armed and trained in secret corners.
This was his second path. His safeguard against the day he would flee.
Days passed in counting and concealment, in study and strength. His body hardened. His knowledge deepened. Yet the books he found were common, their wisdom thin. No breathing arts of knights.
Until one day, the city itself seemed to ignite with rumor.
A Lord Wizard had come to Black Marsh City, openly calling for apprentices.
Lynn's heart nearly burst.
The chance he had waited for, no, prayed for, had arrived.
The test would be held at the City Lord's Mansion, lasting three days. Any child between ten and fifteen might attend, for the price of one gold coin.
A fortune to most.
The problem was escape.
Skinny Monkey watched him closely, loyal to One-Eyed Wolf. If the gang learned of Lynn's intent, the chains would tighten once more.
That evening, as One-Eyed Wolf listened to the day's accounts, he spoke casually:
"You've heard the talk, haven't you?"
Lynn's pulse quickened.
"The wizard's recruitment," One-Eyed Wolf continued. "Your age is right. Aren't you tempted to try?"
Ice spilled through Lynn's veins.
This was no kindness. It was a test.
A probe.
If he showed hunger for freedom, for power beyond the gang's reach, he would never be allowed to leave.
So Lynn bowed his head, hiding the storm in his eyes, and weighed every word as though his life hung upon them…
For it did.