Chapter One

Elijah 'Bolt' Henderson drew in a long drag through his cigarette, allowing the smoke to burn his throat and lungs, before finally pushing it out through his lips. He rested his hand on the brick ledge, the only barrier between him and the forty-something foot drop off the side of the roof. He watched the smoke curling up from the glowing tip of the cigarette, lost in a sea of thoughts.

He was brought back to reality by the sound of shoes clanging up the iron of the fire escape.

"Elijah?"

Bolt turned at the sound of her voice, tossing his spent cigarette on the floor and stomping it out. The shadows in his eyes were momentarily pushed away, and a small smile found it's way to his lips, "Hannah."

"What're you doing up here?" She asked, crossing the roof to stand next to him, wrapping her arms around herself for warmth, "It's freezing."

He didn't answer, but pulled her into his embrace, leaning back against the wall, and clasping his hand around his own wrist, locking her into his hold. Hannah leaned back, resting the back of her head on his chest, and appreciating his warmth.

Bolt buried his face into her hair, breathing in her scent. Standing so close to her made the decision he was being forced to make even more difficult.

Hannah remained silent for a moment, before her curiosity got the better of her, even though she had been enjoying the quiet moment, "So?"

"So, what?" Bolt questioned, his voice muffled by her hair.

"So what are you doing up here? And smoking, at that. I could smell it the second I came onto the roof." Hannah replied, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

Bolt grimaced, "Sorry. I was just feeling a little stressed, that's all." He had begun smoking almost a year ago, an attempt to take his mind off the hunger and cold he often felt as a result of being poor. He knew Hannah hated it, she couldn't stand the smell, so he had done his best to quit. Because, truth be told, if Hannah asked him to jump off a bridge, he would do it in a heartbeat, just to make her happy. Every once in a while though, the merciless grip of addiction would find a hold again, and he'd fall back into the habit.

Hannah twisted her neck, straining to see his face in the darkness, "What are you stressed about?" she asked, concern instantly written on her face. Bolt wasn't one who was easily stressed out. In fact, he was the most easy-going guy she'd ever known. It was like nothing could fluster him

Bolt sighed heavily, avoiding her gaze, "It's nothing, Hannah. Don't worry," He kissed her forehead, allowing his lips to linger for a moment. "C'mon, it's getting late, I'll walk you home."

Hannah nodded, slipping from his grasp, and taking his proffered elbow instead, allowing him to lead her down the fire escape. They walked close together, neither saying much. They arrived at the steps of her boarding house, both pausing.

"Goodnight," Hannah smiled up at him, gently squeezing his arm before pulling her hand back, and hurrying up the steps, glad to be getting out of the cold.

"Goodnight, Hannah." Bolt replied, watching until she entered the house, and clicked the lock behind her, before turning and heading back towards his own boarding house. He shoved his hands in his pockets, walking with his head down, once more losing himself to his thoughts.

He didn't even notice when the shadows to his left shifted, a figure slipping out from an alley, and creeping up next to him. He did, however, notice the searing pain to his left cheekbone, as a fist connected with a loud crack. Through his pain, he spun around, fists clenched, ready to defend himself. He stopped himself when he saw the boy standing there. He couldn't have been much older then fourteen, and he was cradling his injured hand close to his stomach. Bolt clenched his teeth in irritation, letting his fists drop back down to his sides.

"What, are they not teaching you to fight before they send you out now?" Bolt asked, an edge to his voice. "My skull is a lot harder then your fist."

The boy glared up at him, trying to look menacing, "Shaddup." He spat, "Dis is a warning. Ya got a week left, or my boss is comin' after ya!" With that, he kicked some dirt in Bolt's direction, before taking off down the street.

Bolt watched him run, absentmindedly rubbing his cheek, wincing at the bruised feeling that was already spreading. He hated sucker punches. Is someone was going to start a fight, they sure as hell should start a fair one. Bolt turned, once again starting back towards his home, still lost in thought, but having the presence of mind to keep his eyes sharp, scanning the streets and alleyways as best he could in the darkness. He knew he shouldn't be surprised. A "warning" like that was Spot's style. Bolt released a heavy sigh, rubbing the back of his neck.

One week. That was all the time he had