Chapter 2 The Threshold

• MALIA
• Cavalton’s streets were clogged with traffic, a mess of honking horns in the midday sun. I gripped the handlebars of Mason’s illegally modded E-scooter like it was the only thing tethering me to the ground. Keeping three cars behind my father’s black sedan was the perfect distance. Close enough to keep track, but far enough away to stay invisible to him.
• He hadn’t noticed me, and I was sure that he wouldn’t. Earlier, he’d been too shaken to be aware enough of his surroundings suddenly. He hadn’t even locked the front door behind him, something he usually did out of habit.
• Following my father hadn’t been a plan I made up, but something my gut had told me to do.
• School had ended early, so I walked home thinking I’d take a nap or binge something before heading to the dojo later. I figured Dad would be back late, like always. But twenty minutes after I kicked off my shoes and collapsed on the couch, I heard the front door unlock, and he entered the room.
• When he saw me, he startled, like he’d seen a ghost.
• “I didn’t mean to scare you, Dad,” I chuckle, but when he didn’t reply or recover, I asked: “Everything alright?”
• “Yes, of course. I just... wasn’t expecting you home yet.”
• His words were stiff, while his hands were shaking, making me worried about what was going on. Every nerve in my body told me something was off. He was pale, like he hadn’t seen the light of day in months.
• “Can I help you with anything?” I asked.
• “No, no. I have a meeting. Something for work, and I’m late. That’s all.”
• He looked like someone mid-breakdown, not someone late to a meeting. And I knew the look on his face. It wasn’t one of stress, but fear. Though before I had the chance to say anything else, he rushed back out.
• Curiosity and concern got the best of me, so I followed him.
• I grabbed my phone and texted the group chat I had with my best friends to let them know what I was up to. They were as nosy as ever. Mason even told me to take his illegally enhanced E-scooter, still parked at my place from his last visit.
• I didn’t hesitate. Threw on my jacket, stuffed my phone in my pocket, and took off after my father.
• Now here I was.
• The light ahead turned red, making his sedan slow to a stop. I eased back, my hands itched with tension, and I rechecked my phone.
• Lia: Pls be careful! And keep us updated!!!
• Valentina: I wish I could come with you… What do you think your dad is up to?
• Mason: Just don’t break any bones using my scooter… That would get me in big trouble!
• Mason: Oh, and what the other two said, of course 😉
• I smiled. My fingers hovered above the screen, ready to type something dumb, but then a flicker in my peripheral vision made my stomach knot.
• Blackwater Bridge was right ahead. Or, as most people called it, the Whisper Bridge—where rumors lived longer than facts, and truth was just another shadow swallowed by rust and fog. Its iron frame arched like a spine over the river, strung with thick black cables. The water underneath slapped against the stained pylons.
• I swallowed hard, my balance faltering as the scooter wavered beneath me. The instinct to turn around and return home hit me like a punch to the ribs, but I didn’t. I just … couldn’t.
• Crossing that bridge felt like peeling away everything soft and familiar—like stepping out of my skin, with each meter that passed beneath the tires.
• Behind me, the Upside shimmered in the fading sun—mirror-glass towers catching the last rays, manicured streets lined with boutiques, all built to convince you that you belonged—a city curated like a museum exhibit.
• But the further I moved across that iron carcass of a bridge, the more the light bled away. Pavement cracked and curled at the edges, the sidewalk dissolving into gravel. The air grew heavier, denser, soaked in salt and exhaust and something metallic that clung to the back of my throat. Wind tugged at plastic bags caught in chain-link fences. Broken neon signs flickered on in protest, casting sickly glows onto buildings with boarded windows and doors that never quite closed.
• This was the Downside.
• Cavalton’s rotting heart, where everything bled slower and smelled like something dying.
• Everyone knew it was Mafia territory. Unofficially, but still, everyone avoided it.
• My father on the other side… He drove straight in.
• I tightened my grip. The scooter trembled like it didn’t want to be here either. Every sound felt louder here—a barking dog from somewhere unseen, shattering glass, laughter that didn’t sound right.
• I kept going.
• My father’s sedan slowed, and I fell back further, careful not to draw attention.
• Eventually, His car vanishes between two worn buildings, swallowed by a narrow alley. I stop by the corner and peek around, seeing the car pull into a factory site.
• Gravel crunched under my boots as I stepped off the E-scooter and logged it onto the nearest streetlight. I crept forward, crouching low. I kept my back to the cracked wall surrounding the factory site till I reached the entrance, through which my father's car had disappeared.
• Peeking into the premises, I spotted three men walking around with what I believe to be machine guns. Their casual clothes, jeans, and a white tank top don’t fit the guns in their hands. They looked like the kind of men who didn’t ask questions before pulling triggers.
• My father had gotten out of his car and disappeared past them without hesitation. What the hell was he doing here?
• Gulping down the knot in my throat, I crouched lower. My heart pounded heavily in my chest and my thoughts spiraled unstopably.. I could, no, should leave. Turn around and pretend I hadn’t seen anything. He was a grown man, fully capable of making his own choices; however, he was also my dad. He wasn’t the type to say much, but I knew he cared. He showed it in the hours he worked, the tired eyes, the silence he wore like armor. Without that effort, I wouldn’t have had any of the things I clung to—MMA, riding, drawing, the quiet obsession with learning.
• Maybe I could reason with the guards? Say I was lost and tell them I was looking for my father. Perhaps they’d bring me to him.
• Or maybe they’d drag me into the dark, and no one would ever see me again.
• A sudden sound, the low, deliberate clearing of a throat. Behind me makes me jump up with a squeak.
• My blood turned to ice.
• I spun, breath catching, ready to scream or run or fight, and found myself face to face with …