Shadows in the Frost

7132 words

Leon’s boots crunched against the frostbitten asphalt as he crouched low behind a rusted-out Buick in the empty lot on Linwood. His breath came out in sharp, white puffs, cutting through the late November chill that bit at his knuckles. The air smelled of burnt rubber and something sour—maybe rotting trash from the overturned bins near the alley. Across the lot, under the weak spill of a flickering streetlamp, two figures moved, their shadows stretching long and jagged over the cracked ground. One of them, wiry and quick, kept glancing over his shoulder, hands stuffed deep in the pockets of a worn leather jacket. The other, heavier, dragged a duffel bag that sagged with weight, the kind of weight Leon knew wasn’t gym clothes or canned goods. “Man, you seein’ this?” Reggie whispered, his voice tight as a pulled wire. He was hunched beside Leon, his knees pressed into the dirt, his old army jacket too thin for the cold. His eyes darted from the figures to Leon and back again, like he was waiting for permission to bolt. “That bag, bruh. That’s it. Same one from before. We don’t need to get no closer to know what’s in it.” Leon didn’t answer right away. His gaze stayed locked on the heavier man, watching the way he moved—slow, deliberate, like...