The rain had a way of making Crimson Alley feel like it was drowning.
It wasn't just water, Daniela Silva thought. It was the weight of years of grime and filth, pouring off rooftops and gutters, carrying cigarette butts and broken glass into the city's veins. The alley twisted behind her like a serpent, narrow and wet and dark. The neon signs that hovered above blinked and buzzed, throwing violent splashes of red and purple across the slick pavement. She hated this place. She hated what it stood for. But she was here because she was desperate.
Her informant was late.
Daniela checked her watch again: 11:32 PM. He was supposed to be here by 11:00 sharp.
Never a good sign.
She shifted her stance beneath the rusted fire escape, pulling her coat tighter. The wind sliced down the narrow corridor, whistling between the old brick buildings. Somewhere in the distance, music pulsed from the basement clubs, muffled by concrete walls but insistent — electronic, primal. A cheap soundtrack to the city's underground dealings.
She'd worked too long to get to this point. The Vipers had slipped through her fingers too many times, and now, just when she was finally closing in, the informant had vanished.
Or been silenced.
Daniela's hand drifted instinctively toward her sidearm beneath her coat. The Sig was cold against her palm, a silent reassurance. She'd never drawn it unnecessarily, but tonight, the city felt...off. Like it was holding its breath.
The longer she stood there, the more exposed she felt. Crimson Alley didn't forgive mistakes. Anyone could be watching.
Anyone was probably watching.
A shadow moved at the mouth of the alley. Daniela tensed, muscles coiling like a spring. She kept her breathing steady as the figure emerged slowly — deliberate steps, confident, almost leisurely. High-heeled boots clicked softly against the wet ground, cutting through the quiet with unsettling calm.
Not her informant.
Not even close.
The woman who stepped into view wasn't hurried or scared. She wore the night like armor: black leather jacket zipped halfway up over a fitted dark blouse, black pants that clung to long legs, and a thin silver chain barely visible at her throat. Her hair, jet-black and damp from the rain, was slicked back behind sharp cheekbones that framed her face like an artist's deliberate lines.
Her eyes were the most striking — almond-shaped, unblinking, dark like deep water.
Daniela's fingers stayed close to her weapon.
"You're not who I was waiting for," Daniela said evenly.
The woman smiled — not wide, but sharp, almost amused. She pulled out a cigarette from inside her jacket, flicking a lighter with quick, practiced fingers. The flame danced briefly in the rain before she shielded it with her hand, lighting the cigarette without breaking eye contact.
"No," the woman said, her voice smooth, low. "I'm not."
The smoke curled around her like a serpent as she exhaled. She made no effort to close the distance but stood comfortably where she was, like she'd already decided this was her space.
Daniela didn't relax. If anything, the woman's calm set her on edge.
"Then why are you here?" Daniela asked.
The woman tilted her head slightly, studying her like an interesting specimen. "Curiosity," she said. "Opportunity. Call it what you want."
Daniela narrowed her eyes, analyzing the body language. Balanced. Relaxed, but ready. This woman wasn't an amateur. She moved like someone who knew violence intimately.
"You're Vipers," Daniela stated flatly.
The woman smiled again — just a flash of teeth. "Very good, Detective Silva."
The name sent a small chill down Daniela's spine. She hadn't introduced herself. The woman already knew exactly who she was.
The Vipers always did their homework.
The two stood in the rain, locked in a tense silence. Daniela's mind raced. If this woman knew her name, then this wasn't a chance encounter. The Vipers had sent her — but why? Was it a message? A threat?
"Who are you?" Daniela asked finally.
The woman took another slow drag from her cigarette, letting the question sit in the air before answering.
"Eleanor Heng."
The name hit Daniela harder than she expected. She knew that name. Everyone in Narcotics did.
Eleanor Heng: The Vipers' second-tier enforcer. Not as visible as Kayleigh 'Ammo' Medaglia, but far more dangerous because of it. No rap sheet that stuck, but plenty of bodies in her wake. Smart, careful, untraceable.
A ghost.
And now, standing right in front of her.
"What do you want, Heng?" Daniela kept her voice steady.
"I want to talk."
"You don't talk to cops."
"Tonight I will."
The rain intensified for a moment, creating a steady hum as it pelted the metal scaffolding above. Daniela's mind reeled. No one in the Vipers flipped — not unless they had a death wish. This smelled like a trap.
"Why now?" Daniela asked. "Why me?"
Eleanor took one final drag, then flicked the cigarette to the ground, crushing it under her boot. The embers hissed in the water.
"Because you're the only one who might listen."
Daniela stared at her. "Listen to what?"
Eleanor's expression hardened for the first time. There was something underneath that calm exterior — a strain, a fracture. Tiredness, maybe. Or something worse.
"I'm done with them," Eleanor said quietly. "The Vipers. Kayleigh. All of it."
Daniela's pulse quickened. She forced herself not to react too visibly.
"You're saying you want to flip," Daniela said slowly.
Eleanor's eyes flicked upward, reading her. "I'm saying... I'm considering it."
Daniela swallowed. This was bigger than anything she'd expected tonight. But the risks were astronomical — for both of them.
"Why me?" Daniela pressed again.
A pause. And then, almost reluctantly, Eleanor answered, "Because you're not like the others. You don't take shortcuts. You're not on Kayleigh's payroll. And you don't look at me the way they do."
The last sentence hung between them heavily, charged in a way that neither fully acknowledged. Daniela's chest tightened slightly. She wasn't sure if it was the adrenaline or something else entirely.
"I can't protect you if you're playing games," Daniela warned. "You come in half-hearted, you'll be dead before you leave the station."
"I know," Eleanor said. Her voice was flat, but something flickered in her eyes — fear? No. Not fear. Resolve.
"And what exactly are you offering?" Daniela asked, lowering her voice.
Eleanor glanced briefly over her shoulder, scanning the darkness beyond them. When she turned back, her voice dropped lower too.
"Names. Shipments. Scheduled. Bank accounts. Kayleigh's whole network."
It was everything. A career case. Enough to gut the Vipers completely.
But too good to trust outright.
"You could be feeding me bullshit," Daniela said.
Eleanor's lips curved slightly. "I could be. But you know I'm not."
Daniela exhaled. The alley suddenly felt smaller. The rain is louder.
"You're playing a dangerous game," she said finally.
"I've been playing it my whole life."
They stood in silence for a moment longer. Then Eleanor took a step back into the shadows.
"When I'm ready," she said softly, "I'll contact you."
Before Daniela could say another word, Eleanor melted back into the fog, her figure swallowed by the twisting alleyways like she was never there.
The rain washed over Daniela, cold and steady.
She stood there for several more minutes, heart pounding beneath her coat, the weight of the conversation crashing down on her.
This wasn't the meeting she expected. But it might be the one that finally breaks everything open.
Or the one that gets her killed.
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To be continued