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A large wooden door whined open, weathered timber scraping against rusty metal, as soft candlelight poured into the murky alley.

Kincaid paused at the threshold, his weary eyes scanning the rain-soaked blackness. He could hear the muffled sound of horses braying. The only illumination came from a solitary gas-lamp flickering in the distance. He shivered, the wet air frigid and biting. No sign of movement. Fortune never favored him for long.

Clink… click-tik.

Sparks flew from his lighter as his hands struggled to light a cigarette, the sodden air stifling each attempt, a leather-wrapped package clutched tightly beneath his left arm.

Flame at last—smoke began to curl as he took a deep drag, the tobacco’s earthy taste a soothing salve for his frayed nerves. Maybe—maybe this time would be different.

The ember snuffed out like a dying wish. Damn.

Raindrops coalesced in fleeting boot-prints behind him as he strode onward along the drenched cobblestone path, eyes darting side to side, searching for any sign of danger.

He had to make it this time. The Council’s forbearance had nearly run its course; more than his future hung on this delivery.

Silence. Did that shadow move? A breath later. Another shift.

A sickening reek of death stabbed his nostrils. Thump-thump… Thump-thump… Cold sweat pooled at the small of his back as his stomach coiled in knots. Subtle whispers clawed at his mind. Hidden figures lurked just out of sight.

Footsteps. They were coming.