Oxbow

James stood at the mouth of a grim, dimly lit alleyway, staring into the throat of the darkness. He hesitated for only a second, wondering if he should actually go in.

Behind him, heavy footsteps hammered against the pavement and shouts tore through the air. His heart was pounding so violently it drowned out the city’s hum. Lungs burning, he finally dove into the alley and ducked behind a rusted trash can. He pressed himself into the cold shadows, trying to become part of the wall as the voices drew closer.

A heavy boot slammed into the ground just inches from his head, splattering oily rainwater across his face. James held his breath, his pulse a frantic drum in his ears.

“Where’d the kid go?” a rough voice growled.

“Maybe he doubled back to the main street. Let’s go,” another muttered.

James waited, counting the seconds until the footsteps faded into the distance. Only then did he dare to sneak a glance at his surroundings. That’s when he saw it—a strange symbol spray-painted in a jagged, dark orange on the brick wall.

It was the Greek letter Omega. To James, it looked less like a letter and more like a warning.