South London, 1:57 AM. The city was quiet in that heavy, waiting way. Jack Lewis stood by the open window, breathing in cold air thick with petrol and rain. The blocks stretched out in front of him like concrete giants, lights flickering, shadows moving where they shouldn’t.

His phone buzzed once on the table. He didn’t check it. Not yet.

Behind him, the bed sheets rustled. “Jack.” Just his name. Soft, half-asleep. No questions, no edge.

He glanced over his shoulder. Gemma was sitting up, hair a mess, face still caught between sleep and worry. The dim light painted her skin gold. She wasn’t dressed up like the girls his boys ran through the ends with — no filters, no front. Just Gemma. Raw and real.

“You coming back to bed?” she asked. Her voice was calm. Like she already knew the answer but wanted to give him the chance to say it out loud.

Jack looked away. “Soon.” His hands were in his pockets, hiding the cracked knuckles from earlier. Business. It always got messy. And no matter how much he told himself he could keep her out of it, she always saw more than he wanted her to.

Gemma didn’t press. She never did. That was the difference with her — she let him carry the weight without trying to drag it off him. But Jack could feel it anyway. The space between them getting heavier every time he walked out that door.

She lay back down but stayed facing him, eyes half-closed. “Just… don’t take too long. You ain’t slept properly in days.” It wasn’t a complaint. More like a reminder that somewhere in this life full of late-night calls and street politics, there was still someone waiting for him to come home.

Jack’s throat felt tight. He wanted to go to her, crawl back under those sheets, pretend for a few hours that he wasn’t who he was. But the phone buzzed again. Louder this time. Urgent.

Gemma’s eyes flicked to it, then back to him. “You gotta go,” she murmured. Not angry. Just tired. Jack nodded. “Yeah.” He grabbed his jacket from the chair, slipped it on. The chain around his neck felt heavier tonight.

As he reached the door, he paused. Gemma was still watching him, quiet. Steady. Like she wasn’t gonna beg him to stay, but she wanted him to know it mattered every time he left. Jack crossed back to the bed, leaned down, and kissed her — soft, on the side of her mouth. She closed her eyes, breathing him in like she was trying to memorize the feel of him before he disappeared again.

“Be safe, yeah?” she whispered. Jack pulled back, jaw clenched. “Always.” But they both knew that wasn’t true. Not in South London. Not in his world.

He left without another word, the door clicking shut behind him. Out in the stairwell, the city noise started creeping in again. Distant sirens. Laughter that didn’t sound right. Jack’s phone buzzed a third time. He finally looked.

K DOT: Move now. Man’s waiting. Don’t slip.

Jack pocketed it and kept moving. The night was far from over. And somewhere deep down, he could feel it — every time he stepped out, he was gambling with more than his own life.