The back door of the Obsidian Pit opened onto a narrow alley.
Rain had started falling while Holden was inside. It was barely even a drizzle, but it made the ground slippery. The alley was dark. The only light came from a distant street lamp at the far end, its glow weak and flickering.
Holden pulled his hood lower and stepped out.
The Blood Colosseum contract was tucked inside his cloak. His pouch of winnings hung at his belt. The gold mask covered everything above his chin, turning his face into a featureless black void that reflected nothing.
He walked toward the distant light.
His boots splashed in shallow puddles. The rain picked up slightly, pattering against his cloak in an irregular rhythm. The sounds of the Pit faded behind him, replaced by the quieter noise of the sleeping lower city.
He was maybe twenty meters from the street when he stopped.
Not because he saw anything. Because he didn't hear anything.
