Fighting Chance Vol 3 #2C

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The trap smelled like stale blunt smoke, sweat, and bad decisions. It wasn’t a big spot—just a run-down brownstone, sitting on the edge of the block like a missing tooth in a half-rotten smile. Boarded-up windows, eviction notices stuck to the door like faded tattoos, rats bold enough to run across the front stoop in…

Metal grating dug into Zain’s ass but whatever, at least they were up high enough that nobody could sneak up on them. More than anything, he definitely wasn’t about to complain, not when Vince looked like his own body was kicking his ass. The fire escape a couple buildings away from El’s house creaked under…

Chain links wrapped snug around his waist, links almost biting into skin with every breath. It didn’t hurt, his security blanket made of magic steel and potential violence but having it close… it just felt right. Plus, if he needed to fight, no fumbling for the Shen Gong Wu, Just yank and swing. Simple. Effective….

The Queens rooftop somehow still kept the last bit of warmth from the summer sun, breathing heat onto Zain’s butt while the skyline blinked in a thousand colors in front of him. Three weeks since they started hanging out and this slab was already theirs, footprints in pigeon dust, a bunch of different-branded empty soda…

The first thing that hit was the weight. A sudden blur, a shift in air pressure—then the entire world tilted off its axis entirely. Andrew Airs barely even had a moment to register the impact before his back slams into brick. His teeth rattled in his skull, the breath jarred from his lungs. His briefcase…