The street lights flickered like tired eyes over the cracked pavement of the Eastside. Nyra moved through the night like she belonged to it, every step deliberate, every glance measured. She didn't rush. People rushed and got caught. She didn't.Not her,not genius Nyra.
A pair of kids laughed too loudly at a corner, and she threw them a glance sharp enough to silence them instantly. They shuffled away, still giggling nervously. Respect wasn't given; it was demanded. And Nyra demanded it effortlessly."Dumbass kids".
She pulled the hoodie tighter over her shoulders, the locs framing her face in perfect, chaotic defiance. Her fingers toyed with a cigarette in her pocket, the smell of real, heavy weed lingering on her skin from the day's earlier smoke. Not the kind anyone would dare touch. Nyra didn't just smoke. She lived it bitter, addictive and unapologetic.
"Nyra," a deep voice rumbled from the alley beside her. She didn't startle. She never did.
Shark.
He stepped out of the shadows, tall, broad, with that nickname fully justified. Shark because everyone in this city who minded their own business and got in his way… didn't.
"Boss," she nodded, keeping her tone neutral, like she didn't know the danger standing there. But Shark didn't need flattery. He needed competence. And Nyra had it in spades.
"You're late," he said, a single brow raised. His eyes didn't miss a thing, never did.
"Traffic," she replied lightly, adjusting her bag as if it weighed nothing. "You know the streets."
He stepped closer, the smell of leather and power following him. "I know you, Nyra. You're sharp. Don't waste it."
"I never waste it." Her voice was soft, but her gaze was hard. Hard enough to make men reconsider thinking they could control her.
Shark studied her for a moment, the silence stretching just enough to remind her who was in charge. Then he nodded once. Satisfied.
"You got the shipment?"
Nyra tilted her head. "Already moved. Clean, discreet. No cops. No snitches. Nobody touches it."
Shark smirked. "You're my favorite for a reason."
A shiver ran up her spine, but not from fear. From anticipation. Being Shark's favorite wasn't just a compliment it was survival, power, and danger all wrapped in one.
She flicked the end of a cigarette she'd tucked in her hoodie sleeve and lit it, inhaling deeply. Smoke curled around her, softening her edges but sharpening the danger in her eyes. Lana Del Rey hummed low in her headphones, a soundtrack to her chaos. Melancholy, sensual, untouchable just like her.
The city never slept, but Nyra didn't need sleep. She thrived in the night,the night was a vast, obsidian kingdom, stripped of the city's frantic pulse and handed over to her in total silence. She stood in the center of the stillness, a sharp silhouette against the gloom, watching the smoke from her cigarette coil upward like a silent signal of her presence, in the chaos. A backpack full of weed, smoke trailing behind her, and a mind sharper than any street king's. That was her secret. That, and a promise to herself: this life was temporary. One day, she'd graduate, leave the streets, and vanish like smoke.
But tonight wasn't that night. Tonight, she moved like a ghost. Tonight, she survived.
And in Shark's eyes, she wasn't just surviving. She was perfect.