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City Limits
The true shift in the atmosphere, however, began with Rico. He was different from the other Crows. He moved with a fluid grace that belied the hardness in his eyes, a charisma that could disarm the wary and beguile the desperate. He wasn't just another street tough; there was an intelligence in his gaze, a calculating depth that Maya recognized from the patrons at the diner who tipped generously but never met her eyes. He was the lieutenant, the sharp end of the Crows’ spear, and he had started to focus his attention on her.
Their first real conversation wasn’t on the street, but at the back door of the diner, just as Maya was leaving for the night. The alley, usually a refuge of relative solitude, felt suddenly claustrophobic. He leaned against the grimy brick wall, a faint smile playing on his lips, a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Maya, right?" he said, his voice a low rumble, smooth as worn velvet. "Heard a lot about you. Good things."
Maya’s stomach tightened. She didn’t reply, just clutched her worn canvas bag a little tighter, her gaze fixed on the flickering fluorescent light above the door. "You're the one who keeps everything running, huh? Abuela Elena, the little ones… strong woman."
"I just do what I have to," she replied, her voice barely a whisper. She wanted to bolt, to disappear into the anonymity of the darkening street, but his presence felt like a physical barrier.
Rico chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "‘What you have to.’ That’s the spirit. That’s what we appreciate. Resourcefulness. Grit. You’ve got it in spades." He pushed off the wall, taking a step closer. Maya instinctively flinched. "Look, Maya, it's getting tough out here. Tougher than usual. The cops are getting antsy, rival crews are making noise. It’s not a good time to be flying solo."
"I'm not flying solo," she said, forcing a steadiness into her voice she didn't feel. "I have my family."
Their first real conversation wasn’t on the street, but at the back door of the diner, just as Maya was leaving for the night. The alley, usually a refuge of relative solitude, felt suddenly claustrophobic. He leaned against the grimy brick wall, a faint smile playing on his lips, a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Maya, right?" he said, his voice a low rumble, smooth as worn velvet. "Heard a lot about you. Good things."
Maya’s stomach tightened. She didn’t reply, just clutched her worn canvas bag a little tighter, her gaze fixed on the flickering fluorescent light above the door. "You're the one who keeps everything running, huh? Abuela Elena, the little ones… strong woman."
"I just do what I have to," she replied, her voice barely a whisper. She wanted to bolt, to disappear into the anonymity of the darkening street, but his presence felt like a physical barrier.
Rico chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "‘What you have to.’ That’s the spirit. That’s what we appreciate. Resourcefulness. Grit. You’ve got it in spades." He pushed off the wall, taking a step closer. Maya instinctively flinched. "Look, Maya, it's getting tough out here. Tougher than usual. The cops are getting antsy, rival crews are making noise. It’s not a good time to be flying solo."
"I'm not flying solo," she said, forcing a steadiness into her voice she didn't feel. "I have my family."
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Published January 27, 2026
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