3.

The streets were cold and cruel. The police was a cage. The man in front of me was a terrifying, unpredictable mystery, but he was offering warmth, food, and some kind of purpose—a chance to stop surviving and start living. I looked at his expectant eyes. I slowly released the wallet, letting it clatter to the ground.

My hand trembled slightly as i took the snow-white glove from him. The gesture of acceptance, simple as it was, felt heavier than the weight of the gold-filled wallet I had just dropped on the stones. It was an exchange of freedom for fate.

I looked straight up into the man's dark, penetrating eyes. They held no judgment, only an unnerving calculation. He was offering me a new cage, yes, but one gilded with comfort and purpose—a place where the hollow ache of hunger wouldn't be the master of my days.

“The street is done,” i rasped, the words scratching in my dry throat. “I take your proposition.”

A fleeting, almost imperceptible hint of satisfaction touched the corner of his mouth. He didn't offer a dramatic hand-shake or a patronizing pat on the head. He simply nodded, a confirmation of a contract now sealed.

“Wise choice, little one. My name is Keith Greyson.” He reached down with his other hand, retrieved his wallet from the ground, and tucked it away without counting the contents. He then extended his arm, indicating i should follow him out of the alley. "Follow me"

As we walked, Keith explained his terms in a low, even voice that drowned out the city’s nocturnal clamor. He did not mince words; he laid out a life of shadow and luxury with blunt precision.

“You are now a part of my organization which is not some gang of common thieves, nor is it involved in cheap street violence. We are specialists. We move things, we acquire things, and we deliver things that are deemed ‘unobtainable’ by everyone else"

He paused, gesturing toward me as we passed beneath a sputtering lamp. “Your skills will be trained to use to the full so eventually you will be obtaining specific objects. Jewels, rare documents, small, irreplaceable artifacts. Items that require finesse, not force. Your work will be highly technical and entirely clean.”

He stopped at the curb where a sleek, black automobile waited, its engine purring softly. A uniformed driver stepped out and held the door open. Keith looked at me, his expression utterly serious.

“I am offering you a new life, little one. A chance to use your talent to become something extraordinary instead of a casualty of the streets. You take the chance, or you leave it all behind right now. What will it be?"

I slid onto the plush leather seat, the interior smelling faintly of cedar and expensive cologne—a sensory overload compared to the damp, metallic air of the streets. The door closed with a soft, authoritative thud, sealing her into this strange, moving cage of luxury.

The car was silent, perfectly insulated from the city's noise. The glass separating the front and back was opaque, making the driver an invisible servant. It was just her and Silas in the dimly lit, spacious cabin. The soft glow of a reading light illuminated his profile, highlighting the strong line of his jaw and the thoughtful curve of his brow. He didn't look at me; he was already engrossed in his own thoughts, a man whose mind perpetually ran on a different plane.

I sat rigidly, my spine straight against the yielding seat, the white kid glove clutched in my lap. I felt every stain, every tear, and every desperate, cold night etched onto her my. I was an alley rat suddenly deposited into a marble museum.

“Relax, little one,” Keith finally murmured, his voice cutting through the silence without breaking his meditative focus. “You’ve made your choice. The fear now is wasted energy.”

He turned then, his dark eyes finally resting on me, and something shifted in their depth. It wasn't pity, but a detached, almost scientific interest.

“You’re hungry, aren't you?” he stated, not asked. He reached to a small compartment set into the wall of the car, pressed a button, and a thin silver door slid open. Inside, nestled on ice, were small crystal glasses and a plate of tiny, delicate sandwiches.

“Eat,” he commanded. “You can’t think clearly when you’re starving.”

I hesitated, my street instincts screaming at me. Don’t take food from a stranger. Don’t trust anything that looks too easy. But the raw, physical need was overwhelming. My hand, the one that wasn't clutching the glove, reached out slowly. I picked up a sandwich—thin slices of pale meat layered with something green—and brought it to my salivating mouth. The taste was astonishing: rich, savory, and clean. Tears suddenly stung my eyes, not from sorrow, but from the shock of finally, truly tasting something good. I devoured the first one in two bites.

Keith watched my quiet frenzy without comment, a faint, unreadable expression on his face. When i reached for a third, my hand was steadier.

“My proposition is more than just a job,” he said softly, leaning back against the seat. “It is an investment. I intend to mold you into the finest operative in the city. You will be sharp, educated, and deadly. You will have everything you need, but you will remember where it all came from. That loyalty I spoke of? It's the only currency that matters to me.”

He reached out and gently tapped the white glove in my lap. "That," he said, "is your new standard. Keep your hands clean, your mind sharper than a diamond, and your eyes focused only on the task. Now, finish your meal. When we arrive, your old life ends, and your training begins."

The smooth ride lasted for nearly an hour, taking us far from the noisy, polluted heart of the city. The darkness outside eventually gave way to the crisp scent of pine and rich earth. When the car finally slowed, it wasn't to stop at a busy street but to glide through tall, wrought-iron gates that hissed open silently.

What lay beyond was less a house and more a fortress dressed in finery.

The car continued along a long, winding gravel drive lined with towering, perfectly manicured hedges. Then, the full structure came into view: a magnificent, sprawling manor house built of dark stone, its silhouette framed against the sparse moonlight. It was architecturally severe, with gothic arches and tall, narrow windows that looked less like openings for light and more like the watchful eyes of a sentinel.

Torches in wrought-iron sconces lined the entrance, casting dancing shadows that made the whole place seem to breathe. It was intimidating, immense, and completely silent. It radiated a sense of old wealth and guarded secrets. This was not a cozy home; it was a compound.

The car stopped directly beneath a massive portico. The driver’s door opened, and the uniformed man who had been a silent fixture opened my door. As i stepped out, the gravel crunching under my worn boots felt loud in the oppressive silence.

Keith emerged and stood beside me, his tailored coat blending into the night. He placed a hand lightly on the small of my back—a possessive, guiding gesture—and propelled me toward the heavy, oak front doors.

“This is your new home now,” he said, his voice echoing slightly in the grand space. “It provides security and anonymity, and it is a masterpiece of concealment. Every pane of glass is armored, every wall monitored. Think of it as a perfect cage, designed to keep the world out, and those inside, safe... for as long as they adhere to the rules.”

The doors were opened by a tall, stern woman with tightly pulled-back gray hair, whose uniform was sharper and more severe than the driver's. She didn't smile, didn't nod, only her eyes registered my arrival with clinical disinterest.

“Mrs. Hale will see to your immediate needs,” Keith instructed, stepping inside without waiting for a reply. “You will be washed, given clean attire, and taken to your room. Tomorrow, at first light, your education begins and a contract will be ready for you to sign.. Rest well, Apprentice. Tonight is the last night you will ever go to sleep hungry or cold.”

He left me standing in the cavernous, marble-floored foyer, the single white glove still clutched tightly in my hand, the expensive scent of the manor's polish and history filling my lungs. The sheer scale of the place made me feel smaller and more insignificant than i ever had on the streets.

I took a deep breath to silence my nerves. This was it. A new life, a new start away from the harsh streets. The only thing I was wondering was, did I made the right deal?