Empire of Ashes - Chapter Three: The First Blow

The sharp, metallic clang of iron against stone echoed through the alleyway as the first shot cracked through the night. John Sullivan stopped mid-step, his hand instinctively going to the inside of his coat, where the cold grip of his revolver lay waiting. A split-second later, the sound of breaking glass shattered the eerie quiet of the streets.

The docks were alive with movement now—figures emerging from the fog, shouting, scrambling to find cover. Sullivan’s men, spread thin and out of position, moved like ghosts in the mist, some firing blind into the shadows, others diving behind crates of smuggled goods. The low growl of a boat engine buzzed from the harbor, cutting through the rising chaos.

Sullivan turned sharply, his eyes narrowing. They’d come. Doyle’s boys.