The sun's already baking Cebu when I woke up. Squatters shack dim, tin roof popping from the heat. Marco's guys still asleep on mats. I stepped out. Face throbbed, ribs taped tight. Walked the narrow path between the shanties. Kids kicking a bottle cap, laundry dripping, dogs too hot to bark.

  Passed a side alley. A woman pinned against a wall by two guys, one holding her wrist, other digging through her bag. "Phone, wallet, quick!" She whimpered. "Please...This is for meds."

  I walked past. Didn't slow. Didn't look. Just kept moving.

  The bakery stall is at the corner. I bought 40 Pan de Sal, hot, paper bag greasy. 200 pesos. The vendor didn't look at my face twice.

  Back at the same way. Alley empty now. Woman gone. No trace. No cops. The city swallowed it like always.

  Back to the shack. I boiled water on the small stove. Instant coffee in the cracked mug. Black. No sugar. The steam rose slowly.

  Marco leaned in the doorway. Shirt off, tattooed arms crossed. Watched me stir.

  "You're up early. Face looks like shit."

  I didn't look up. "Feels like shit."

  He snorted. "But still breathing. That's something."

  I poured. Mug hot on fingers. "Yeah. Something."

  He stepped in. Leaned on the counter. "Last night's run was clean. You ride like you want to die."

  I took a sip. Burned tongue. "If the pay's good, of course."

  Marco nodded slow. "Pay's good till it isn't. Don't get cute. Don't bring problems. We got enough."

  I set mug down. Lit a cig. "Problems find me. Not the other way around."

  He laughed low. "That's the problem, man. You don't run from them. You ride straight into them."

  I exhaled smoke. "Worked so far."

  Marco pushed off the counter. "So far. Keep it that way. Tonight's drop, You drop here. No extras."

  I nodded once. Didn't answer.

  He walked out. The door creaked shut.

  I took my coffee to the balcony, narrow concrete ledge overlooking the maze of roofs.

  Inhaled deep. Coffee bitter on my tongue.

  Above me, the railing creaked. A woman leaned over from the floor up. Same age maybe, messy bun, oversized shirt, shorts. Smiled down like she'd been waiting.

  She leaned over the railing again. "Morning, neighbor. You look like you fought a jeepney and lost."

  I exhaled smoke. Looked up. "Won, actually. The jeepney's in the hospital."

  She laughed short. "Damn. Tough guy. What's your name, champ?"

  "Nolan."

  "Raine." She grinned. "Rain with an E. Someone thought it'd be poetic."

  I nodded once. "Fits the weather."

  She tilted head. "You always this deadpan, or is it just for me?"

  "It's for everyone. Saves energy."

  She snorted. "Efficient. I like it. What you drinking? Smells like regret."

  "Coffee. Same thing."

  She laughed again. "Want company? I got better than instant."

  "Pass. Got work later."

  "Always work with you, huh?" She leaned further. "Ever take a break?"

  "When I'm dead."

  She paused. Smiled softer. "Don't rush it, Nolan."

  I flicked ash over the railing. "Not rushing. Just moving."

  She watched me a second. "See you around, tough guy."

  "Yeah. See you, Raine."

  She pulled back. The railing creaked.

  I stayed. Finished my coffee. Smoked the cig down to the filter, then crushed it on the ledge.

  I Turned back inside.

  Marco was in the doorway again. Arms crossed, leaning on the frame like he'd been listening the whole time.

  "You and the girl upstairs. Raine. Talking like old friends."

  I set the mug down. "She talked. I answered."

  He snorted. "She talks to everyone. She thinks she's charming. I've been here for three months. Pays on time, keeps quiet mostly. But she asks questions. Too many sometimes."

  I looked at him. "What kind?"

  "About the guys coming and going. The bikes. The late nights. Acts innocent, but she's curious. Mom's sick back in Bohol, she says. Needs cash fast. That's why she stays. But curiosity gets people hurt."

  I nodded once. "Noted."

  Marco stepped closer. Voice low. "Don't bring her in. Don't let her see shit. She's not one of us. She's rent. If she starts digging, she becomes a problem. Problems get solved quiet. You understand?"

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  "Yeah."

  Afternoon dragged hot. Marco texted in the burner phone: "Pickup info from contact. Squatters, 6 p.m. Don't be late."

  I walked the paths. Found the guy. Skinny, cap low, sitting on a plastic chair outside a tin shack. He handed a folded paper. "Pier, 11 p.m. Red container, third row. Guy in a gray shirt. Code: 'late delivery'. Stash small. You ride, hand off, gone."

  I nodded. Pocketed it. No questions.

  Night came fast. 10PM. 7/11 signage buzzed. Althea was there. Same bench. Hoodie up, bangs over her eyes, hairpin catching the lights. Nervous, knees bouncing, fingers twisting string.

  I sat end of bench. Lit a cig. Offered her one.

  She took it. Hands shaky. "Thanks."

  I exhaled. "Rough night again."

  She wiped face. "Worse. Mom's gone missing. She left this morning. She said she was going to find money for her pills. Hypertension, diabetes. Meds ran out. She didn't come back."

  I listened. Smoke curled.

  She kept going. "I called everyone. No one saw her. She's probably out there begging or worse. All because of money. Tuition's late too. School's kicking me out next week. Now she's gone trying to fix it."

  I flicked ash. "She left to help you."

  "Yeah." Voice cracked. "And I'm here crying instead of looking. But I don't know where to start. I'm scared she'll end up like those people in the alleys. All for pills."

  Silence sat.

  "I almost didn't come."

  I exhaled. "But you did."

  "Yeah." She stared at the ground. "I'm scared, Nolan. What if we get caught? What about the cops? What if something goes wrong and I end up in jail? My mom's counting on me. Tuition, meds. I can't mess up."

  I listened. Smoke curled between us.

  She kept going. "I told myself it's just one night. Easy money. But riding with you... seeing your face, the way you don't flinch... it scares me more. Like you're already dead inside. And I'm jumping on the back of that."

  I took a drag. "You want out, say it now. Walk away. No hard feelings."

  She looked at me. Eyes wet. "I can't. I need the cash. Mom's pills ran out. School called again. I'm drowning. If I don't do this, I sink."

  I nodded slow. "Then you do it. I drive. You spot, hand off. Simple. Cops come, we ride. No hero shit. No talking back. Just move."

  She swallowed. "What if I freeze?"

  "You won't." Voice flat. "You froze last time you cried here. Then you showed up tonight. You push through. That's enough."

  She stared at me long. Then nodded. Small. "Okay. Let's do it."

  I stood. Dropped cig. Crushed it.

  She stood too. Hoodie zipped tight.

  We walked to the bike. She mounted pillion. Arms around my waist, hesitant at first, then tighter.

  The engine rumbled alive.

  I twisted throttle.

  We rode.

  She gripped harder. Breath fast on my back.

  I stayed calm.

  Mactan pier smelled like salt, diesel, and rotting fish. Night thick, lights yellow on the water. We rolled up slow. Bike idled low. Althea's arms tight around my waist, breath fast on my neck.

  "I think that's them." she whispered.

  I nodded once. Parked in the shadow. She dismounted. Legs shaky.

  Gray shirt guy stepped out. Hood up. Handed the small bag, taped tight, no words. I gave the code: "Late delivery."

  He grunted. "Clean ride."

  Althea took the bag. Hands trembling. Zipped it in her hoodie. Climbed back on. Gripped harder.

  I twisted the throttle. We rode.

  The road back is narrow. Squatters ahead. Halfway, trouble hit. Two motorbikes pulled out from the side of the street. No plates. Riders masked. One waved a pipe. "Pull over!"

  Althea gasped. "Nolan—"

  I floored it. Bike surged. They chased. One pulled alongside. Pipe swung at my head.

  I leaned low. Swerved. The pipe clipped the rear mirror, glass shattered. Bike wobbled. Althea screamed. I cut left, sharp turn into the dirt path. Bike fishtailed, tires spitting mud. They followed.

  Second rider rammed my side. The bike bucked. Front wheel slipped on a loose gravel. We crashed. The bike slid, threw us off. I rolled, ribs cracking fresh on impact. Althea hit a soft dirt, the bag flying from her hoodie.

  I stood fast. Face bleeding new. Knife out in my pocket. They dismounted. Pipe guy lunged first. I dodged, slashed his arm, blood sprayed. He howled, dropped the pipe.

  Second guy jumped me. Fist to his jaw, bone jarred. I went down. He kicked ribs, crack. Pain white-hot. Punched his face, eye swelled, lip split. Blood in his mouth.

  Althea watched from the dirt. Frozen. "Nolan... no..."

  I grabbed his leg. Pulled. He fell. Knife in close, slashed his thigh. Blood gushed. He screamed, rolled away clutching.

  Pipe guy backs up. Swung wild. Missed. I tackled him. Knife to his gut shallow, but enough. He gasped, doubled over.

  Second guy crawled for his bike. I stomped his knee, crack. He stayed down.

  I stood. Breathing ragged. Face wrecked, cheek gashed, jaw throbbing, eye half-shut. Ribs on fire. Blood dripped to my chin.

  Althea stared. Shaking. "You... you killed them?"

  "No." Voice flat. "Just broke them."

  I picked up the bag. Handed it to her. She took it. Hands bad.

  We mounted. Bike dented but ran. Rode slow to squatters.

  Marco stepped out. Eyes hard.

  "Stash?"

  Althea handed it. Hands worse.

  Marco took it. Opened. Nodded. "Clean."

  Then saw us. My face ruined, her traumatized stare. "What the fuck happened?"

  I leaned on the bike. "Ambush. I handled it."

  Marco exploded. Voice roaring. "Handled? You look like death! And you brought her? I said no extras! One hesitation from her and you're both dead weight. You crashed? Lost control? One fuck-up and the whole operation goes down. I pull you in because you ride like you don't care. Now you care about her? Get out. Both of you. No pay. No more runs. You're liabilities."

  I stared back. No reaction.

  Althea cried quiet. "I'm sorry..."

  Marco slammed the door.

  I turned to her. Distant. "Go home. Sleep. It's done."

  She looked at me. "You got beaten for me..."

  "No. For the job."

  She walked away. Shaking.

  I stood in the alley a long time. Face wrecked, ribs grinding on every breath, no pay, no job, nothing. The scooter leaned against the wall like it was tired too. City noise bled over the rooftops. Jeepneys, barking dogs, someone's videoke two floors up murdering an old OPM ballad. Manila didn't care. Never did.

  Pulled out my phone. Old habit. Opened the gallery before I could stop myself. Last photo of her. Hospital bed, tubes everywhere, eyes closed. I'd taken it the morning before I left for Cebu. Told myself it was so I'd remember what I was fighting for.

  She was gone three days later. I was on a bike in Mactan, running someone else's dirt, when the nurse called.

  I closed the app. Pocketed the phone.

  Lit the last cigarette in the pack. Hands steady. Past shaking. Past most things now.

  That's when the cane tapped.

  Slow. Deliberate. Same rhythm as the first night outside the 7/11. Like he'd been keeping time this whole while, just waiting for the count to finish.

  Corvin stepped out from the alley mouth. Black coat dry despite the drizzle. Not a hair wrong. Smile already in place, thin and patient, like a man who'd placed a bet months ago and just watched it land.

  "Rough night," he said.

  I took a drag. Said nothing.

  He stopped a few feet away. Didn't look at my busted face, the blood dried on my jaw, the way I was holding my ribs. Like none of it surprised him. Like he'd written this scene already.

  "Marco's small," Corvin said. "Always was. Scraps and ego. You were too much for that room the moment you walked in." He tilted his head. "You know that."

  "Say what you came to say."

  He reached into his coat. Pulled out nothing. Just let his hand rest at his side, relaxed. This offer wasn't paper. Wasn't an envelope.

  "I don't need a rider," he said. "I need a weapon. Something that doesn't flinch, doesn't hesitate, doesn't break." His eyes moved over me slowly. "Something that's already been through the fire and came out the other side not caring if it burns."

  The drizzle picked up. Neither of us moved.

  "You've got no one left to protect," he said. Quiet. Not cruel. Just true. "No debt to run from. No reason to stay small." He let that sit. "That makes you the most dangerous thing in this city. I want to point you at something worth your damage."

  I dropped the cigarette. Crushed it.

  Looked at him.

  "When do we start."

  Not a question.

  Corvin's smile didn't widen. Didn't need to.

  "Tomorrow," he said. "Tonight you rest." He turned, cane already lifting. "You've earned it."

  He walked back into the dark and the city swallowed him whole.

  I stood alone. Rain on my shoulders. Nothing in my chest where the weight used to be.

  She was gone. The debt was gone. The last reason to hold back — gone.

  All that was left was me.

  And I'd just handed that over too.