Chapitre 23: Between Two Fires
The streets were a maze of shadows as Adélard made his way toward the docks. The marketplace was behind him, and with each step, the lively hum of the town gave way to an eerie quiet. The dark alleys and narrow streets ahead were familiar, but tonight, they felt different—charged with an energy that prickled at his skin.
His mind raced, the encounter with the strange girl playing over and over in his head. Who was she? And how did she know so much about Rourke? He couldn't shake the feeling that she was watching him even now, lurking somewhere in the dark, waiting for her moment.
But his focus had to remain sharp. The shipment was what mattered right now. If Rourke got wind of Adélard's hesitation or any sign that he might be considering other options, the consequences would be devastating. For Leon. For his mother.
He pulled his coat tighter against the chill that had settled into the night air. The path to the docks felt longer than usual, every shadow a potential threat. The narrow streets twisted and turned, and soon the faint scent of the sea reached his nose. The familiar creak of wooden docks underfoot greeted him as he approached the waterfront.
The warehouse loomed ahead, its hulking shape outlined against the moonlit sky. It was here that Rourke's operations thrived in secrecy, shipments slipping in and out under the cover of darkness. Adélard knew this place well—too well, perhaps. But tonight, there was something different in the air. He could feel it.
As he neared the entrance, he saw two men stationed outside, their figures barely visible in the dim light of a flickering lantern. He recognized one of them—Rourke's regular muscle, a thug named Mercer. The other was unfamiliar, but from the way he carried himself, Adélard could tell he was no ordinary dockworker.
"Evening," Adélard said as he approached, keeping his voice low and casual.
Mercer grunted, giving him a slow, appraising look. "You're late."
Adélard shrugged, forcing a smirk. "Traffic."
The other man, tall and silent, glanced between them but said nothing. His eyes were sharp, and they lingered on Adélard longer than he liked.
Mercer jerked his head toward the warehouse door. "Get inside. The boss doesn't like waiting."
Adélard nodded and stepped past them, pushing the heavy door open. The warehouse was dimly lit, the air thick with the smell of salt and damp wood. Crates were stacked haphazardly along the walls, and in the center of the room stood Rourke.
He was hunched over a table, as usual, but tonight there was something different in his posture. Something more tense, more deliberate. He didn't look up as Adélard entered, his attention focused on a set of documents spread out before him.
"You're here," Rourke said without looking up. His voice was calm, but there was an undercurrent of impatience. "Took you long enough."
"I came as soon as I could," Adélard replied, stepping forward. He kept his tone neutral, careful not to betray any of the doubt or unease churning inside him. "What's the job?"
Rourke finally straightened, his eyes meeting Adélard's. There was something unsettling in his gaze—something sharper, more dangerous than usual. He gestured to the crates scattered around the room. "I need you to oversee the unloading of these crates. Make sure everything goes smoothly. No surprises."
Adélard frowned. "That's it?"
Rourke's lips curled into a thin smile. "That's it. But be thorough. I can't afford any mistakes tonight."
Adélard nodded, though a sense of unease gnawed at him. The task seemed simple enough, but nothing was ever that straightforward with Rourke. He moved toward the crates, his eyes scanning the room, taking in the details—the exits, the positions of the guards, the layout of the space. He'd learned long ago to stay alert, to expect the unexpected.
As he began inspecting the crates, his mind wandered back to the girl in the alley. Meet me after the shipment, she'd said. But where? And why? He was treading dangerous ground, balancing between his loyalty to Rourke and this mysterious offer of freedom.
Time passed slowly as the crates were unloaded, one by one. The men working the docks moved like shadows, their movements efficient but wary. Adélard kept a close watch, his instincts on high alert. But nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
That was, until he noticed one of the crates. It was smaller than the others, almost inconspicuous, tucked away in the corner of the room. There was no marking on it, no indication of what it contained. Something about it didn't sit right with him.
"Hey," Adélard called to one of the dockworkers, a burly man with a shaved head. "What's in this one?"
The man glanced at the crate, then back at Adélard with a shrug. "Don't know. Was told not to ask."
Adélard frowned, stepping closer to the crate. He reached out, running his hand over the surface. It felt heavier than it looked. His heart quickened, the weight of suspicion settling in his chest.
"Everything all right over there?" Mercer's voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding.
Adélard straightened, forcing a calm expression as he turned to face the enforcer. "Yeah. Just making sure everything's in order."
Mercer didn't look convinced, his eyes narrowing as he took a step closer. "You're not here to question the shipment. Just oversee it. Stick to your job."
Adélard clenched his jaw but nodded, backing away from the crate. "Right."
The rest of the unloading continued without incident, though the unease in Adélard's chest never left. By the time the last crate had been moved, the night had deepened, and the warehouse was quiet once more. Rourke was speaking with one of his men in the far corner, his expression unreadable.
Adélard felt a pull to leave—to get out of there before anything else happened. But he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. He glanced back at the small crate, still sitting where he had left it. Something about it gnawed at him.
As the workers filed out, Rourke approached him, his expression cold and unreadable. "Good work tonight, Adélard. You're free to go."
Adélard hesitated, his mind racing. He knew Rourke was watching him closely, waiting for any sign of weakness or defiance. But there was something in his tone—something final.
"Thanks," Adélard muttered, turning to leave.
But as he stepped toward the door, the weight of the night's events pressed down on him. The girl's words echoed in his mind once more, louder this time.
Meet me. I'll explain everything.
Adélard pushed open the door and stepped out into the cool night air. The docks were quiet, the sound of the waves lapping against the shore filling the silence. He pulled his coat tighter around him and started down the narrow path back to town, his thoughts racing.
But as he reached the edge of the docks, a figure stepped out of the shadows.
The girl.
She stood before him, her eyes gleaming in the moonlight. There was something fierce in her gaze, something determined.
"You came," she said, her voice low and urgent. "Good. We don't have much time."
Adélard's heart pounded in his chest as he stared at her, the weight of the night pressing down on him.
"What do you want?" he asked, his voice tight with tension.
She stepped closer, her eyes locking onto his. "I want to bring Rourke down. And I need your help."
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone