The hum of The Towers woke up before Tisha did. Outside her bedroom window, kids were already shouting across the concrete courtyards, their voices bouncing off the cracked walls. She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering through the broken blinds. Her phone buzzed on the nightstand—probably Lamar or one of Solomon's crew reminding her about the pickups for the day. She didn't need the reminder. The hustle was a rhythm now, something she could do half-asleep.

Tisha rolled out of bed, slipping on her worn jeans and a faded black hoodie. She tied up her sneakers, the soles practically worn through from running up and down these streets, and tucked her gun into the waistband of her pants. A quick glance in the mirror showed the same tired eyes, the ones that had seen too much of this life. But there was no time to dwell on that. The day was waiting, and so were the streets.

She moved through the apartment quietly. Her mother, Keisha, had probably passed out on the couch again, but this morning, the place was quiet. Tisha stepped out, locking the door behind her. The air outside was thick with the usual smells: weed, fried food, and sweat. She could hear the sound of glass bottles clinking and the distant rumble of an argument on the corner.

She didn't bother looking back.

The first pickup was just two blocks down at Big Dre's Barber Shop, where the old heads on the block gathered early, talking about the way things used to be. Big Dre always had the freshest cuts in the hood, but that wasn't the only thing he ran. Solomon's operation flowed through the barbershop like water, and Dre was one of the key players in keeping the money moving.

The bell jingled as Tisha stepped inside. The shop was already buzzing—three guys were in the chairs, getting lined up, while a few others played cards in the corner.

"Tish," Big Dre greeted her with a nod, clippers buzzing in his hand. "Got it ready for you. Check the drawer under the counter."

She nodded back, moving past the row of chairs. She could feel eyes on her—the same look she always got, half respect, half curiosity. Tisha was making moves in Solomon's crew, but she knew better than to get comfortable. In this game, you were only as good as your last run.

She grabbed the envelope from the drawer, felt the thickness of it with her fingers. Payment was short by a few hundred. She glanced over at Dre, who was now shaving down the side of some guy's head, acting like everything was business as usual.

"You short this week?" Tisha asked, her voice low but firm.

Dre didn't look up from his work. "Nah. Had a few delays. You know how it is."

Tisha wasn't having it. "You know Solomon don't care about delays. You got until tomorrow to fix this, Dre. I don't want to come back here and see you scrambling."

For a second, Dre's jaw tightened, but he didn't argue. He knew what was at stake. Tisha gave him one last look before heading back out the door. Her job wasn't to make friends.

By noon, Tisha had hit three more spots. Ms. Velma's Corner Store, where the old woman ran groceries but made her real money behind the register selling Solomon's product in tiny brown bags. Then there was Roy's Garage, a dingy, grease-slick place where cars were stripped for parts and deals were done in the back lot. And finally, the Paradise Liquor Mart, where one of the cashiers slipped her an envelope over the counter without a word.

Her backpack was heavier now, stuffed with cash. The day's haul wasn't bad, but she could feel the tension building in her shoulders. Something was off. It was the kind of day where the sun beat down, and everyone in the neighborhood moved a little faster, heads down, not making eye contact. She sensed something brewing on the streets. Maybe a rival crew looking to test Solomon's grip, or the cops sniffing around. Either way, Tisha kept her guard up.

As she made her way toward Solomon's building, a familiar figure appeared on the sidewalk ahead—Lamar, swaggering like he had something to prove. He threw her a quick nod, falling in step beside her.

"You good?" Lamar asked, though he was really asking if the pickups went smooth.

"Yeah, mostly," Tisha muttered, her mind still on Big Dre's missing cash. "Dre's light by a couple hundred. I gave him 'til tomorrow to fix it."

Lamar smirked, lighting a cigarette. "Man, Dre's slippin'. But that's your problem. You know Sol don't play with no excuses."

Tisha shot him a look, and Lamar raised his hands in surrender. "Just sayin'."

They walked in silence for a moment, Tisha feeling the familiar rhythm of the neighborhood around her. The way the streets never stopped moving, even when you wanted them to.

The climb up to Solomon's apartment was always the same. The stairwell smelled like piss and old cigarettes, the sound of loud music bleeding through the walls. Solomon never took the elevator. Said he didn't trust the way it creaked like it was about to drop. And he didn't trust too many people around him either. Everything about Solomon was calculated—every step, every deal. He didn't build his empire by being careless.

When they reached the door, Lamar knocked twice and stood back. After a few seconds, one of Solomon's boys opened it, nodding them inside.

Solomon sat in the far corner of the room, his legs stretched out on the leather couch, phone in hand. He didn't look up as Tisha walked over, dropping the backpack on the coffee table in front of him.

"All there?" he asked, still tapping something out on his phone.

"Short by a couple hundred from Dre," Tisha replied. "He said he'll have it tomorrow."

Solomon paused, glancing up now, his dark eyes narrowing. "Tell Dre tomorrow's his last chance. He don't come up with it, you know what to do."

Tisha nodded, her stomach tightening. Solomon didn't raise his voice, didn't need to. Everyone in The Towers knew what happened if you crossed him.

Before Tisha could leave, Solomon waved someone over. A new face—Imani, a woman she hadn't seen before. She was tall, lean, with a calm, unreadable expression. She moved confidently, but there was something quiet in the way she held herself, like she didn't need to show off. Tisha noticed her right away.

"This is Imani," Solomon said, eyes shifting between the two of them. "She's gonna be helping with the lower levels. Make sure she knows the ropes."

Imani's eyes flicked to Tisha, and for a split second, Tisha felt something stir inside her. Curiosity. Maybe a little suspicion.

"Got it," Tisha said, her voice steady. She gave Imani a quick once-over, nodding before turning to leave. As she did, she felt Imani's gaze linger on her, that unspoken tension thickening the air between them.

Tisha didn't know it yet, but this was the moment everything began to shift.