Darius didn’t sleep that night.


He sat on the floor of his barely furnished studio, the cracked photo and red truck laid out like a warning shrine.


They knew where he was.


They knew what mattered to him.


And they weren’t aiming for him—they were aiming through him.


He picked up the photo, studied it.


Zaire was smiling wide.


Maya had her hand on his shoulder, eyes halfway closed, laugh caught mid-frame.


Darius looked at the slice through his own face.


It wasn’t just symbolic.


It was a message.


You’re out? Good. Stay out. Or we’ll erase you for real.


By morning, he was already in Devin’s office.


Devin sat behind the desk in plain clothes, reading the label on the evidence bag containing the picture and toy truck.


“They're not subtle anymore,” Devin muttered.


“Nope,” Darius said. “And I’m not stupid.”


“You ready to talk?”


Darius hesitated.


He had grown up on a code—no snitching, no flipping, no weak moves.


But now he had a son, a job, and enemies who were starting to test boundaries they shouldn’t even know existed.


“Yeah,” he said finally. “Let’s talk.”


Later that day, Maya stood in her kitchen mixing a new gloss color—warm peach with a gold sheen.


She called it “Peace Offering.”


The doorbell rang.


She opened it to find Darius on her porch with a bandage on his arm and something heavy in his eyes.


“I told them everything,” he said.


Her face froze. “You… you what?”


“Devin has it. Names, routes, accounts. It’s over.”


“Do they know you told?”


“Probably.”


“Then you’re not safe.”


“I know.”


Silence.


Then Maya whispered, “Zaire’s staying with my aunt for a few days. I didn’t feel right having him here.”


Darius nodded. “I’ll keep watch too.”


“You’re not staying here.”


He shook his head. “I know. But I’ll be close. I won’t let them near either of you.”


Maya crossed her arms.


“Why now?” she asked.


Darius looked her dead in the eye.


“Because loyalty ain’t the same as love. And I finally know which one my son needs from me.”