chapter 1
The first lesson Finn learned was that people left. His mother never said it outright, but he saw it in the way she looked at him sometimes--like she wished the world had given them something better. She never cried when his father walked away, just tightened her grip around his tiny wrist and muttered, "We don't need him."
Finn believed her, because he had too. But years later, after the bar where he was born just another forgotten corner in the city, he found out that needing someone wasn't the same as wanting them to stay.
Flashback (Age 7):
The smell of spilled beer and burnt cigarettes clung to the apartment walls, mixing with the sharp scent of whiskey from the bottles on the counter. Finn sat crossed-legged on the floor, pulling threads from his socks, trying to keep quiet. His mother stood near the door, rigid, her voice cold as she spoke to the man with heavy footsteps and a hungry stare. "I said no."
"You ain't got a choice, sweetheart," the man--Sikes--drawled, taking a slow step towards her, "Debts don't disappear just 'cause you don't want to pay 'em."
Finn watched as his mother's fingers curled into fists at her sides. He knew that look. He knew the tension inside her jaw meant she was already calculating their odds of making it out without giving in.
"Whatever he owed you," she said, her voice steady, "He's gone. So take it up with him."
Sikes scoffed, pulling a cigarette from his jacket pocket. He lit it, taking a long drag before flicking ash onto the floor. "We both know that ain't how it works." His eyes flickered onto Finn, sharp and knowing. "And it'd be a damn shame if the kid pays for his father's mistakes."
Finn held his breath. He didn't know what that meant--what debts his father had left behind--but he knew he didn't love the way Sikes looked at him, as if he's something to be used.
His mother stepped in front of him, blocking Sikes' view. "Leave."
Sikes didn't argue, he simply smiled, slow and calculated before tossing his cigarette aside and walking out the door. But the threat stayed.
end of flashback
Years later-Present Day
This morning, Finn woke up before the city has, the cold air pressing against his skin as he stretched out on the worn-out blanket in the abandoned building he called home. Dodger his dog snored lightly beside him, curled up for warmth, the only steady presence in his life. He took a look at himself in his old, dresser mirror. His face was sharp-angular, with cheekbones carved by hunger and a jawline defined by instinct. His dark eyes, unreadable, quick, had seen too much and carried too many unspoken truths. The remanants of an old bruise lingered beneath his cheekbone, just another mark in the collection of fights he never talked about.
He pulled on his leather jacket, worn at the elbows, patched where it had once ripped during a chase. The fabric smelled similar to the streets-full of asphalt after rain, cold metal, and survival. The scar along his forearm burned slightly as he flexed his fingers, a reminder of past mistakes.
His frame was lean, built, more for speed than brute strength, but it didn't matter-he fought smart, fast, with the kind of precision only desperation could teach. Every movement was controlled, efficient. And when he stepped into the city, blending effortlessly into the crowd, he knew how to disappear.
The first rule of surviving was to stay ahead of the game. He never liked staying in one place for too long, never lingered when the streets were empty enough to feel safe. He had to move fast, slipping through the crowds, blending into the pulse of the city as if he belongs here. He didn't, not really. But he knew survival of the fittest rules, and he followed them without much trouble.
Finn tightened his grip around Dodger's leash, as he stalked through the alleyway. The city buzzed around him--neon lights pulsing, music blasting from passing cars, voices drowning each other out--but here, in the quiet pockets of darkness, it was just survival. Just the next job.
He kept his gaze fixed on the car outside the cafe--clean, expensive, untouched. A perfect mark.
Dodger sniffed the air, his tail twitching, but Finn barely paid attention. He was focused, sharp, and ready. Then he noticed her.
A young lady was sitting on the sidewalk, her back against the brick wall, her fingers trembling as she held a crumpled letter in her lap. Finn caught the frustration in her eyes, the way she traced each word carefully, deliberately, as if reading wasn't easy for her as it should have been.
He should've ignored her. Should've kept moving, but for the first time, in a long time, he got side-tracked. She was pretty.
Finn decided to go back to what he was doing. The things he is to do this morning, things he doesn't waste any-time on. The first job of the day was easy. A crowded subway station, distracted commuters shuffling through turnstiles, heads buried in their phones. He picked his mark--a buisnessman too focused on his coffee to notice the movement of his hands. A quick brush past, a nimble tug, and the wallet was his. He barely glanced at the contents before sliding it into his pocket, already scanning for his next opportunity.
Dodger weaved through legs like a shadow, pretending to be an innocent stray. People saw him and softened--let their guard down, as Finn used it to his advantage, snatching loose change, forgotten cash, and slipped unnoticed into the rhythm of the city's underbelly. Midday meant bigger risks.
A side deal in the alley behind the bakery, exchanging stolen goods for cash with a guy who never asked questions. Finn barely flinched when the man counted out his payments, short as always.
"You're late," the man muttered, shoving bills into Finn's hands.
Finn pocketed them without looking. "I don't do schedules."
"Yeah, well, Sikes does."
Finn didn't respond. Didn't need too. The weight of his debt pressed against his ribs, familiar, suffocating. He needed more money, and needed it fast.
By the time the sun dipped below the skyline, Finn had run more jobs than he could count. Stealing a wristwatch from a drunk guy outside a club, skimming profits off a rigged poker game, slipping jewelry from a vendor too busy arguing with a customer to notice. Every move was precise, practiced. But it was never enough. Not for Sikes.
Finn leaned against the brick wall of an empty lot, Dodger resting at his feet. The night stretched ahead of him, and he exhaled, trying to ignore the weight in his chest. Sikes is waiting, and he knows one day some people similar to him right now, gotten themselves hurt.
