Chapter 12 - The Wolves Stir

Alex had finished work a little earlier than usual. Old Mr. Harris, grumbling as ever, had waved him off with a grunt and a vague accusation about laziness, though he’d said nothing more. The man had grown oddly softer these past few days — or perhaps merely tired.

With his satchel slung over one shoulder, Alex made his way toward the plaza, where the fountain gurgled endlessly beneath the high, pale sky. He was searching — or perhaps hoping — to catch a glimpse of Noor, the violin girl who had helped him not long ago. There was something about her quiet presence that lingered in his mind, half dream, half mystery.

But the city was crowded.

It was market day, and the narrow streets were teeming with people. Vendors shouted prices from carts brimming with oranges, bolts of cloth, tin pots. A woman carried a squawking chicken under one arm. Somewhere nearby, a horse whinnied in protest as a cart rolled past. Alex squeezed through bodies and shoulders, muttering apologies as he went, eyes flicking over the faces, scanning for someone familiar.

Then — he felt it.

A blur struck his side — a small, fast shape darting through the crowd like a fish through reeds. A boy no older than nine, with a sharp face and nimble limbs, collided with him and kept running without a word.

Alex stumbled slightly, catching his balance.

“What the—?”

Something tugged at him — not just physically, but inwardly. A sensation like a plucked string. He reached instinctively to his pocket.

His hand met nothing.

The charm — the wooden token carved by his father, Gilbert - his lucky charm — his birthday gift — had been stolen clean off.

His breath caught.

A voice echoed in his mind — Dante’s warning from the day he’d arrived:

“Watch out for pickpockets.”

“No,” Alex muttered, scanning the crowd. But before he could move, a voice called out from the side.

“That little rat — he took something from you!”

It was Dante, emerging from the crowd, eyes sharp. He jabbed a finger toward a narrow passage between buildings. “He cut through there! Come on!”

Alex didn’t hesitate.

The chase led them into the shadowed maze of back alleys. Here, the noise of the plaza faded into a muffled hum, replaced by the slap of boots on stone, the wheeze of breath, the scrape of iron against brick.

Alex ran as fast as he could, but Dante moved like he was made for this — all sharp turns and confident strides, feet barely touching the ground.

Ahead, the boy — small, quick — rounded a corner too sharply. A moment’s hesitation, and he ducked into a side alley.

By the time Alex and Dante reached the turn, he was already there — caught, or perhaps waiting.

He stood in the narrow passage, shoulders rising and falling with each breath, trying to look brave. His eyes darted toward the exit behind them, but the trap had sprung.

“Cornered,” Dante muttered.

Alex stepped forward, one hand raised.

“Hey,” he said quietly, not out of breath. “We don’t want trouble. I just want what you took.”

The boy — Pinch, they would later learn his name — didn’t answer. He only smiled, sharp and knowing.

And then, from behind a pile of rusted crates—

A roar.

Something huge moved — a blur of muscle and noise.

Tonno came crashing out from the shadows. He was all size and noise, shouting as he lunged.

“Nobody touches our little Pinch!”

Alex barely dodged the first swipe. The second came close — a fist like a boulder cutting through the air.

“I don’t want to fight,” Alex shouted. “Just give me the—”

But Tonno wasn’t listening.

He charged again, wild and reckless, and this time he caught Alex, wrapping one thick arm around his ribs.

“Gotcha!” he grinned.

Alex didn’t budge.

Tonno blinked, confused. He grunted and strained, trying to lift him — but Alex stood like stone.

His feet were planted deep, his stance set low and solid. It was instinct more than technique, something he'd learned without knowing from all the hiking and hard work in the farm and the mountains.

Tonno cursed, straining harder. “Why isn’t he moving?! I’m bigger! What the hell?!”

Alex clenched his teeth.

“Let me go,” Alex growled.

Tonno grinned, squeezing tighter. “Make me.”

Alex did.

He didn’t twist or trip or feint — didn’t even think. He just planted his feet. One step back, both legs braced like stone. His hands locked around Tonno’s arms, and with a low grunt, he pushed.

Tonno’s grin faltered.

Alex’s muscles strained, silent and steady — not the kind of strength that came from fighting, but from hauling sacks of grain uphill, chopping firewood before sunrise, hiking steep trails every day since he was seven. The kind of strength that didn’t show until you were trying to move him — and found out you couldn’t.

Tonno cursed and dug in, but it didn’t matter. Inch by inch, Alex pushed forward, legs driving like pistons, his core steady as a boulder.

Tonno’s boots scraped backward.

“What the—?” he gasped. “How are you—”

One final shove.

Tonno flew back with a yelp, crashing hard against the alley wall. He slumped to the ground, stunned, blinking up at the sky like the wind had been knocked out of his brain.

Alex stepped back, panting softly, eyes still locked on him.

He didn’t say a word.

He didn’t have to.

While Alex wrestled Tonno, Dante was already squaring off with another.

Lino was faster than the others — wiry, quick on his feet, and full of cheap tricks. He feinted, ducked, grinned with a mouth full of mockery.

“Hey!” he shouted, pointing behind Dante. “What’s that?!”

Dante didn’t blink. “Try harder.”

He snapped a punch that made Lino wince. But Lino grin faltered. Dante was just better. His quick witted traps don’t work on him, and Dante was more athletic.

“Guess I’ll go with plan B !”

he shouted — and flung dirt into Dante’s face… and Alex who joined Dante after being done with Tonno.

Alex staggered, coughing. Dante cursed, blinded for a moment.

A crash followed — Tonno had kicked the metal dumpster, toppling it sideways. It screeched and clanged, blocking the alley exit.

“Let’s go!” Lino shouted.

And just like that — the Wolves were gone. Lino, Tonno, and Pinch vanished down the far end of the alley, the charm still in their possession.

Alex and Dante scrambled over the fallen dumpster, giving chase — but as they reached the alley’s end, they skidded to a stop.

The path split. Three narrow routes twisted out into the city.

Empty. Silent. No sign of which way the gang had gone.

Dante wiped at his eyes, breath heavy.
Alex stood still, staring at the web of alleys.

“We lost them,” he muttered, voice low and tight with frustration.

Dante gave a half-hearted shrug, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve. “Yeah. Little rats know these streets.” He exhaled, eyes scanning the alley.

Alex came to a halt, staring down the stretch of cracked stone and rusted trash cans, where a stray cat picked its way through the shadows like it belonged there more than they did. The air smelled faintly of damp brick and old iron.

Dante snorted, the sound half amusement, half disdain. “Told you about ’em your first day.”

“The Wolves.”

Alex said nothing for a moment. His eyes lingered on the alley’s far wall, as if expecting something — someone — to reappear from the gloom.

“Wolves…” he echoed. The word felt strange in his mouth.

“They’re just a bunch of street brawlers who call themselves a gang,” Dante said, hands sinking into his coat pockets as he nudged a stone with the toe of his boot.

He paused, then added, almost with a note of admiration, “They stick together. That’s how they survive. I know where they crash. Near the commons, out east.”

Alex clenched his fists. His jaw tightened as he stared at the ground. “They took something precious from me. I have to get it back. No matter what.”

“Oh?” Dante tilted his head. “Not money?”

Alex shook his head. “No. A gift from my parents... worth hundreds of coins.”

Dante didn’t hesitate. “We’ll get it back.”

Alex looked up, surprised. “They’re... a whole gang, Dante.”

“You scared?”

“A little. The other time, the mugger used a knife. But... why would you come?”

Dante smirked. “They’re not an army. Just four or five kids with some history. And I’ve seen you fight—you’re pretty good.” He nudged Alex with his elbow. “Besides, you’re the fresh meat in this city. I’ve got a duty to keep you safe. Boss orders.”

Alex laughed—just a little. The tension in his shoulders eased.

“We were winning earlier,” he said. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. But if it comes down to it… we can win again.”

Dante’s grin faded. “Careful,” he said, more quietly. “They were missing their heavy-hitters today.”

Alex looked up, uncertain. “Heavy-hitters?”

Dante raised a hand and counted on his fingers. “One’s a tomboy. Tough, skilled. Knows how to fight. Other one…”

He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Some creepy kid. I’d rather not fight him.”

Alex blinked. “Have you seen them ?”

“Once or twice,” Dante said, noncommittal. “From a distance. Their leader isn't around anymore. Word is he is untouchable in a fight. I have never met him but even without him, they are still very good. This won't be a joke.”

The alley quieted again. Just the hum of the city at its edges, the shifting shadows.

Alex stood there, small beneath the broken sky, but something in his stance settled. His voice, when it came, was soft. Steady.

“We’ll get it back. That lucky charm... is very important to me.”

Dante grinned and clapped him on the back — a rough gesture, but not without warmth. “Yeah, we will,” he said. “Tomorrow’s a new hunt.”

“Tomorrow?” Alex asked quickly. “Can’t we go now?”
There was a nervous edge in his voice, the panic of something precious slipping further away.

Dante hesitated. “Um... I was actually on my way to apply for a job at that shop near the square…”

Alex blinked. His eyes widened a little. “You’re really trying to get work…? Like you said?”

Dante gave an awkward shrug, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well… I figured I’d give the honest path a shot. Been cleaning shoes in the meanwhile.”

There was a pause—then he groaned. “Ugh. To hell with it. Let’s go now.”

“No! No, please—don’t,” Alex stopped him quickly. “We can do it tomorrow. Really.”

“You sure?”

Alex nodded, a warm, grateful smile replacing the tight worry on his face. “I can’t afford to be selfish here.”

“You’d be doing me a favor, actually,” Dante muttered, already turning around, heading back the way they came.

Alex stayed there for a moment, watching him go—still nervous about the lucky charm, about tomorrow, about everything—but also strangely reassured. Dante really was trying. And that meant something.

“Thank you, Dante. For chasing them down with me. And for coming tomorrow. You don’t have to.”

Dante shrugged, but his expression softened. “Yeah, well. I didn’t have much better to do. Besides—” he glanced at him with a crooked smirk, “—someone’s got to keep you from getting flattened.”

Alex, still smiling. “Still. Thank you.”

_____________________________

The Wolves' hideout lay beneath the city — tucked behind a rusted service grate in a disused tunnel from the earliest days of the underground railway. It had once been a maintenance room, or perhaps something grander, but the years had worn it thin. Cracked tiles lined the curved walls like broken teeth. The ceiling arched low, strung with dead wires and a maze of pipes that hissed faintly with lingering steam. The air carried the scent of rust, oil, and damp stone — the smell of something forgotten.

A broken couch sagged near the far wall, its stuffing poking through at the seams. Lino flopped into it like a prince on a throne, hands behind his head, a grin tugging at his mouth.

“I’d call it a win,” he drawled, “if you squint hard enough.”

He chuckled to himself, but across the room, Zack leaned silently against the wall, arms folded, eyes colder than the stone underfoot.

“You still ran,” he said.

The words fell like lead, heavier than the rusted bolts scattered across the floor.

Tonno shifted, his massive shoulders hunched in guilt. “Sorry, Zack,” he muttered. “I slipped. That polite one—he was stronger than he looked.”

Zack’s gaze didn’t waver. He stared at Tonno, disappointed. “Slipped, huh,” he said quietly.

In the corner, Pinch crouched cross-legged, his tiny fingers counting out a small pile of coins with methodical care. He didn’t speak — he rarely did — and the others barely noticed him. The soft clink of metal was the only sign of his presence.

Nearby, Mira sat atop an overturned crate, legs swinging idly, eyes sharp. She smirked.

“You’re telling me two boys roughed up Tonno and Lino?” she said. “What’re they feeding them?”

Tonno flushed, looking at the floor. Lino only grinned wider.

“Hey, I didn’t lose,” he said breezily. “I just made a strategic retreat. Like any good general.”

He threw a mock salute, and Mira laughed — rough and real — but her eyes stayed thoughtful.

“You’re not scared,” she said, watching him. “So they were good, huh?”

Lino shrugged. “Better than they looked. The slightly dark skinned one with freckles is quick and smart. The quiet one… polite, yeah, but strong. Wrestled Tonno down like it was nothing.”

Mira’s grin twitched wider. There was a glint in her eye now — the kind that came before a good scrap, or a storm.

“Maybe tomorrow’ll be more fun than I thought,” she murmured.

In the corner, Pinch finished counting, tucking the coins into his pouch. No one asked where they’d come from while the others bickered and boasted.

Down here, beneath the city, the Wolves hung out — eating when they could, fighting when they had to. Above them, the trains still thundered past, shaking the tunnel like a waking beast. But down here, forgotten by the world, the hunt never stopped.

And tomorrow was just another day.