A Test of Trust

The air in the abandoned warehouse hung thick with the smell of stale piss and something metallic, like old blood. It was our usual haunt, a place where shadows clung like a second skin and the only currency that mattered was what you could score or fence. Akari shivered, pulling her threadbare jacket tighter. Even in the dim, flickering light of a lone bare bulb, I could see the worry etched into her face, deeper than the grime.

“He’s late, AJ,” she whispered, her voice a rustle of dry leaves. “Ramiro’s never late.”

I kicked a loose brick, sending it skittering across the concrete floor. “Relax, Kari. He’ll show. Probably got held up by some border patrol bullshit.” It was a lame excuse, even to my own ears. Ramiro was too slick for that. He’d navigated the labyrinth of this city’s underbelly for years, always one step ahead. Or so I thought.