Chapter 178 up
The street narrowed without warning.
One moment they were walking beneath open sky, the next they were funneled between two rows of parked cars and shuttered storefronts, the sound of the city thinning into something hollow and exposed. Nyla noticed it the way you notice a shift in weather—not dramatic, not obvious, but enough to make your skin tighten.
Evan slowed beside her.
She adjusted her pace to match his, keeping their steps even. The pavement here was uneven, patched and repatched, the kind of place no one lingered unless they had a reason.
They almost made it through.
The men appeared as if they had stepped out of the street itself.
Three of them, positioned with casual precision: one ahead, two drifting into place behind. Not rushing. Not blocking aggressively. Just… present. As if they had always belonged there.
Nyla stopped.
Evan bumped lightly into her back.
“What—” he began, then fell silent.
The men looked ordinary. That was the worst part.
No masks. No scars. No exaggerated menace. One wore a dark jacket zipped halfway, another had his hands tucked into his pockets, shoulders relaxed. The third leaned slightly against a car, weight on one hip, like someone waiting for a ride.
Faces you would forget five minutes after seeing them.
One of them smiled.
It wasn’t friendly. It wasn’t cruel.
It was efficient.
“Evan,” he said.
The sound of Evan’s name dropped into the space between them like a stone into water.
Evan inhaled sharply. His hand found Nyla’s without being told, fingers locking around hers so tightly it hurt.
Nyla stepped forward instinctively, placing her body between Evan and the men. She didn’t look back. She didn’t need to.
“Yes?” she said, forcing calm into her voice. “Can I help you?”
The man’s eyes flicked over her, assessing—not her clothes or her face, but her stance, her grip on the child behind her, the way she held herself as a barrier rather than a plea.
“No,” he said. “You can step aside.”
Another man shifted, closing the angle to the sidewalk beyond. Not fast. Just enough.
Nyla felt the calculation settle in her chest.
“This is a mistake,” she said. “We’re not who you think we are.”
The man’s smile thinned. “We know exactly who he is.”
He nodded, just slightly, toward Evan.
Evan’s breathing grew shallow. Nyla felt it through his hand, the tremor traveling up her arm.
“Who sent you?” she asked.
The question earned her a brief glance of interest, then nothing.
“Come with us,” the man said, this time directly to Evan. His tone didn’t rise. It didn’t soften. It didn’t negotiate.
Evan pressed closer into Nyla’s back.
“No,” Nyla said.
The word landed cleanly.
For a second, no one moved.
Then one of the men behind them sighed, a sound of mild impatience.
“Don’t make this difficult,” he said. “We don’t have time.”
Nyla’s pulse hammered against her throat. She scanned the street—too narrow to run without being grabbed, too empty to count on help arriving in time.
“Step away from us,” she said. “Now.”
The man in front tilted his head, studying her more carefully. “You care,” he observed. “That’s good.”
It wasn’t a compliment.
Evan spoke then, his voice small but steady. “Nyla?”
She reached back without looking and squeezed his hand once. Stay with me.
The man took one step forward.
“Come,” he said.
That was when Nyla understood.
This wasn’t a threat built on fear.
It was built on certainty.
They expected compliance. Not because they were strong, but because this was supposed to be inevitable. As if someone, somewhere, had already decided the ending.
“No,” Nyla said again. Louder this time.
The man’s expression flattened.
He gestured, barely noticeable.
The man to the side moved.
Nyla reacted on instinct. She twisted, pulling Evan behind her fully, her arm wrapping around his shoulders as she pivoted to keep herself between him and the reaching hands.
“Don’t touch him,” she said sharply.
A hand brushed Evan’s sleeve.
Evan cried out.
Nyla slapped the hand away, her nails scraping skin. The man swore under his breath.
“Jesus,” another muttered. “Just take the kid.”
Everything collapsed into motion.
Hands reached. Evan screamed, the sound tearing and uncontrolled. Nyla dug her heels into the pavement, anchoring herself, her arm tightening until it burned.
“No!” she shouted. “You don’t touch him!”
Fingers tangled in her hair. Pain exploded across her scalp as she was yanked backward.
She refused to let go.
Her elbow connected with someone’s ribs. There was a grunt, a flash of surprise.
Then a fist struck her cheek.
The blow stunned more than it hurt at first—a shockwave that rattled her teeth, sent white sparks across her vision. She staggered but stayed upright, her grip locked around Evan’s shoulders.
“Stop!” she screamed.
Another strike landed, harder.
The world tilted.
She felt herself falling, her knees buckling as gravity took over. She hit the ground with a jolt that knocked the breath from her lungs.
Her fingers slipped.
For one awful second, she still had Evan.
Then hands pried them apart.
“No—!” she gasped, clawing at sleeves, at air, at nothing.
She pushed herself up on one arm, her vision blurring, shadows doubling. She saw Evan being dragged backward, his feet skidding uselessly on the pavement.
“Nyla!” he screamed.
“I’m here!” she shouted back, her voice breaking. “I’m here—!”
A foot pressed into her shoulder, pinning her down.
“Stay down,” a voice said, cold and close.
Evan fought. He kicked, twisted, his small body rigid with panic and rage.
“Don’t touch me!” he cried. “She’s my person!”
The words hit Nyla harder than the pavement.
She surged again, pain screaming through her head, her ribs, her shoulder. The pressure increased, forcing her back.
The men moved with grim efficiency now. No shouting. No hesitation.
Evan’s cries echoed down the narrow street, bouncing off brick and glass, growing distant as they pulled him away.
Nyla screamed his name until her throat burned.
Then they were gone.
The street rushed back in around her—too bright, too quiet. Someone shouted from somewhere far away. Footsteps approached. A door opened.
Nyla lay on the pavement, shaking, her hands empty.
The interruption was complete.
And nothing would ever be the same again.