An Unlikely Encounter

Jack Stenner sat at the back of a rundown diner, slouched in a booth, nursing a black coffee. His dark brown eyes darted across the room, picking up on every detail-the grease-stained walls, the flickering fluorescent light, the sizzle of a broken-down jukebox. He'd been doing this for years-blending in, staying invisible.

He wasn't expecting company.

The bell above the door jingled.
Jack barely lifted his gaze, but the low chatter around him died. Whoever walked in wasn't regular. The heavy footsteps echoed across the cracked linoleum. A hulking figure slid into the seat across from Jack. Dante, a brute with tattoos crawling up his neck like they were escaping something worse. Dante smiled, showing off a missing tooth.

"You don't look like much," Dante said, leaning forward, his voice a gravelly rumble.

Jack stirred his coffee lazily, glancing up with a blank expression. "Never said I was."

𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤

Dante snorted. "Frankie says you're worth a lot of trouble. Says you know things. Can do things."

Jack set the spoon down carefully, eyes locking with Dante's. "Frankie's an idiot."

Dante grinned wider. "Maybe, but idiots get desperate. And you're about to do him a favor."

---

THREE WEEKS EARLIER:

A Debt Comes Due

It was supposed to be a quiet night, but that's when things always go to shit. Jack had been living off the grid for the last six years, keeping his head down. He didn't expect Frankie Malone, an old acquaintance, to show up on his doorstep, drenched in sweat, panting like a cornered animal. Frankie wasn't just nervous-he was terrified. Jack could smell the fear on him.

"Jack, man, you gotta help me," Frankie pleaded, slamming his hand against the doorframe.

Jack stepped back, his cool eyes taking in Frankie's disheveled appearance. "I told you. I'm out."

"I don't care what you're out of," Frankie spat. "They're gonna kill me."

Jack folded his arms, his voice calm. "Sounds like your problem."

Frankie's hands were shaking, but his voice held a desperate edge. "You still owe me. You know it."

Jack's expression didn't falter. He thought about it for a second, then stepped aside, motioning Frankie inside. "Talk."

---

A Bloody Warning:

Dante's hand slammed down on the table, making the coffee cup rattle. "You're coming with me. Frankie doesn't care if you like it or not."

Jack's stare remained level, unblinking. "Dante never knew when to shut up."

Dante chuckled darkly, cracking his knuckles. "Look, man, this can go two ways-easy or bloody. But trust me, the bloody way is more fun."

Jack's lips barely moved. "You don't want that."

Dante scoffed, but before he could react, Jack's hand shot out. Fast. Brutal. A fork jabbed into Dante's hand, pinning it to the table. Dante roared, trying to yank his hand free, but Jack followed up with a quick punch to the nose, sending blood spurting in all directions. The diner went silent as everyone froze in shock. Jack leaned closer to Dante, voice dropping to a deadly whisper.

"Tell Frankie to stop sending amateurs."

Without another word, Jack stood, threw a few bills on the table, and walked out into the cold night. Behind him, Dante howled, cradling his bleeding hand.

---

FIVE YEARS AGO:

The Ghost of Old Rites:

Jack wasn't always calm. He wasn't always controlled. There was a time when chaos defined him-when rage and violence were second nature. Back then, he worked as a hitman
for one of the most dangerous crime syndicates in the city, a group led by an enigmatic figure known as The Crow. Jack was their deadliest weapon, a shadow who left bodies in his wake without a second thought.

But things went south-badly. Jack made the mistake of underestimating his boss, underestimating the game.
A betrayal, an ambush. His team was wiped out, Jack barely escaping with his life. It wasn't just survival, though. It was the realization that The Crow had known all along. Jack was disposable. They all were.

So Jack disappeared.

The Man with No Patience:

Jack didn't get far before his instincts flared. Someone was tailing him.

His calm, measured steps quickened as he cut through the back alleys of the city, shadows clinging to him like old scars. Every sound-every distant car horn or muffled shout-was a reminder that this world hadn't changed, no matter how far he ran.
He heard the distinct click of footsteps behind him. Not sloppy, not rushed, but intentional. Professional.

Jack ducked into an alley, concealed by the dark, waiting. His back pressed against the cold brick, heart rate steady. Moments later, the figure appeared-a sleek, sharp woman with a gun in her hand. She moved with deadly grace, her highlighted brown hair tied back, her eyes cold and calculating. Jack knew her type.
He'd worked with her type.

𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤 & 𝐈𝐯𝐲

As she passed, he moved. A silent blur of motion. His arm wrapped around her neck, the other hand twisting her wrist until the gun clattered to the ground.

She didn't struggle. Instead, she smiled. "So, you're still as fast as they say."

Jack's grip tightened slightly. "Who sent you?"

"Does it matter?" she replied smoothly, not the least bit panicked.

"Depends if I'm killing you tonight."

Her smile widened. "You can try. But you're not that guy anymore, are you?"

He hesitated. She took the chance, spinning out of his grip, but he caught her again, pinning her against the wall. She gasped, though more out
of surprise than pain. Jack's face was inches from hers now, eyes burning with a fire he'd tried to bury long ago.

"Don't push me," he warned.

"Name's Ivy," she said, unfazed. "I'm not your enemy, Jack. I'm just here to deliver a message."

"From who?"

Ivy's gaze sharpened. "The Crows."

---

FOUR YEARS AGO:

The Pact with Frankie

Frankie wasn't always a sniveling, terrified mess. Once, he was a slim smooth-talking hustler with big dreams. Jack had crossed paths with him during a job-a high-stakes heist involving diamonds, blood, and too many bodies. Frankie was small-time then, but he had ambition. He wanted to make it to the top. Problem was, Frankie lacked the brains or guts to survive the climb.

Jack had saved his life once during that heist. Pulled him out of the fire when everything went to hell. In return, Frankie promised Jack an out. If Jack ever wanted to disappear for good, Frankie would help make it happen-new identity, new life, everything. It was the kind of promise that no one believed, but Jack held onto it anyway.

Until now.

𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞

---

The Deal with the Devil:

Back in his apartment, Jack sat in the dimly lit room, his mind racing. Ivy's message hung in the air like poison. The Crows wanted him back in the game. But why? What could they possibly want after all these years?

He barely had time to process it when his door swung open, Frankie stumbling inside. The man looked worse than before-his face pale, his eyes wild. Jack stood, ready to throw him back out.

"Jack, wait! It's worse than you think," Frankie gasped, holding up a trembling hand. "It's not just you. It's everyone. The whole city's in their crosshairs."

Jack clenched his jaw. "Start talking."

Frankie swallowed hard, words tumbling out in a rush. "There's a shipment. Big money, black market weapons. The Crows want it. But there's a new player in town, someone badder, meaner. They call him The Wolf. He's gunning for The Crow's throne, and you're caught in the middle."

Jack's expression darkened. "And why the hell should I care?"

Frankie hesitated, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Because they've already marked you, Jack. This isn't about a job. This is about you. They've been watching you this whole time. You're not out, man. You were never out."

Jack's fists clenched at his sides. His mind raced back to all the times he thought he'd been free, the false sense of security. It was a lie. All of it. He was never going to escape the shadows that had once consumed him.

---

A Final Reckoning:

The abandoned warehouse was the kind of place where bad things happened. Ivy waited in the shadows, gun in hand. Frankie trembled beside her, a nervous wreck. Jack stood in the center, calm but coiled like a spring.

The Crow's men suddenly appeared first. Leather-clad enforcers with cold, dead eyes. Then came The Wolf's crew-ruthless, violent thugs with no sense of fear. The two sides squared off, tension crackling in the air like electricity.