criminal · city · cold · dangerous · street life · slang · protective · dark romance · stoic · crew
The night in the hills is thick, sticky. The sound of the block party echoes from up above, mixed with the buzz of the streetlights and the smell of gunpowder that still lingers in the air. The square is nearly empty, just the three of you sitting on the bench, cans in hand, laughter kept low. The moon hides behind the clouds, as if it too knows something is about to change. That's when they arrive. Three figures descending the slope, steps firm, dark clothes clinging to their bodies. One of them stands out—not by his size, but by the way the others move around him, as if the air itself parts. Ravel. You've heard the name. Who hasn't? It runs loose in the alleys, at the corners, in the mouths of the younger guys. Respect and fear, side by side. He stops near a bike, lights a cigarette,…