Under the Shadows

The car slowed to a stop, the rumble of the engine fading into silence as they reached the port. Dante's gaze flicked out the window, his eyes narrowing at the sprawling industrial landscape before him. The air smelled of salt and diesel, the harsh clang of metal echoing faintly in the distance. Ahead of them loomed a massive cargo ship, its steel hull weathered and streaked with rust. It was an imposing sight, a vessel built for freight and anonymity.

The woman beside him killed the engine and turned to him, her expression guarded. "This is it," she said, gesturing toward the ship. Her voice was flat, almost detached. "The Frenchman arranged everything. It's all set up inside. All you have to do is get on board."

Dante nodded, his chest tightening as he opened the car door. His body ached with exhaustion, but adrenaline was coursing through him now, sharp and insistent. He stepped out, the sun glaring overhead, casting long shadows across the asphalt. The woman followed, her movements brisk but tense.

As they began to walk toward the cargo ship, Dante's instincts prickled. Something wasn't right. The woman's demeanor had shifted, her gaze darting around the empty port as if searching for someone—or something. Her shoulders were rigid, her pace uneven, and the faint sheen of sweat on her brow betrayed her anxiety.

He slowed his steps, his pulse quickening as suspicion coiled in his gut. "Where's Elyne?" he demanded, his voice cutting through the oppressive quiet.

The woman hesitated, her head snapping toward him. She opened her mouth to respond but faltered, the words catching in her throat. "She... she shouldn't be long," she stammered, her tone unconvincing, her eyes avoiding his.

Dante stopped in his tracks, his fists clenching at his sides as anger and panic surged in tandem. "You told me she was already here," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "You said she was waiting for me."

Her face paled, and she took a step back, inching toward the car. "I..." She hesitated, then exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "I'm sorry. I had orders to bring you here, no matter what. Elyne will be here—you need to get on that boat. Now."

Dante's chest heaved as her words sank in, the weight of them twisting like a knife. He turned his head, staring at the cargo ship, then back at her. "You lied to me," he said, his voice tight with barely restrained fury. "She's not here, is she?"

The woman didn't answer immediately, her lips pressing into a thin line. Her silence was all the confirmation he needed. Dante's heart pounded, the edges of his vision blurring as anger and fear clashed violently within him.

"Where. Is. She?" he ground out, his voice rising with each word.

"I don't know!" she snapped, the facade of calm cracking under his glare. "I don't know where she is, okay? My job was to get you here. She's supposed to meet you. That's all I know!"

Dante shook his head, backing away from her as his chest tightened with panic. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Elyne. Where was Elyne? Was she in trouble? Hurt? Every instinct screamed at him to find her, to turn around and leave this place behind. But the woman moved, blocking his path to the car, her hands raised in a placating gesture.

"You have to trust her," she said urgently. "She planned this. She knows what she's doing. But you need to get on that boat, or this whole thing falls apart."

Dante's chest heaved as he glared at the woman, his heart thundering in his chest. "I'm not getting on that boat without her," he growled, his voice low and steady, but trembling with fury. "I don't care what your orders were. It's not happening."

The woman's face hardened, a flicker of guilt flashing in her eyes before she looked away. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "But you have to go. Now."

Dante's fists clenched, his rage boiling over as he took a step back. "You don't get it," he spat, his voice breaking. "I'm not leaving without her. Do you hear me? She's my—"

Before he could finish, strong hands clamped down on his arms, one on each side, yanking him backward with brutal force. His instincts kicked in, and he thrashed against the grip, his mind racing as he turned his head to see who had grabbed him.

The men were unfamiliar but unmistakable. The Frenchman's crew—hulking figures with cold, detached expressions, their movements precise and unyielding. They didn't speak, their focus solely on restraining him as they began to drag him toward the cargo ship.

"Let me go!" Dante roared, his voice raw with desperation. He thrashed against their hold, his muscles straining, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

The woman stood off to the side, her lips pressed into a grim line as she watched. She didn't intervene, didn't say a word. Her silence was deafening.

Dante's anger surged, white-hot and uncontrollable. With a sudden burst of strength, he managed to wrench one arm free, his fist flying toward the man on his right. The punch landed with a satisfying crack, sending the man stumbling back. Dante spun toward the other, his adrenaline pumping as he prepared to fight his way out.

But he didn't see the taser until it was too late.

The sharp crackle of electricity filled the air, and then the pain hit—a searing, all-encompassing jolt that ripped through his body, stealing his breath and locking his muscles. Dante staggered, his legs giving out beneath him as the world tilted violently. He crumpled to the ground, his vision swimming, his body trembling uncontrollably.

He tried to fight it, tried to hold on, but the shock was too much. His limbs felt like lead, his head spinning as his consciousness began to fade. The last thing he saw before his eyes slipped shut was the looming shadow of the cargo ship, its steel hull towering above him like a monument to his defeat.

And then, nothing.