The warehouse district was a maze of abandoned buildings and loading docks. Some had been converted to trendy lofts or microbreweries, but many still stood empty, their windows broken and walls covered in graffiti. Perfect shelter for those with nowhere else to go.
"I don't even know where to start," Ricky admitted as we drove slowly past building after building.
I rolled down my window, scanning the area. "Let's try that one," I pointed to a structure that looked marginally less decrepit than its neighbors. "The plywood over the windows has been pulled back in places."
We parked and approached cautiously. A makeshift entrance had been created where someone had pried away boards from a side door. The darkness inside was almost complete after the bright sunlight, and it took my eyes a moment to adjust, even with my dragon-enhanced sight.
"Hello?" Ricky called out, his voice echoing in the cavernous space. "Phoenix? You in here, buddy?"
Silence greeted us, broken only by the scurrying of what I hoped were just rats. The warehouse floor was littered with debris—broken pallets, discarded fast-food wrappers, empty bottles. Signs of habitation were everywhere, but the place seemed deserted now.
"Most of them clear out during the day," Ricky explained, seeing my confusion. "Cops do sweeps, plus some can panhandle enough for food if they're out when businesses are open."
We moved deeper into the building, checking corners and alcoves. The smell was worse here—urine and mold and something else that made me breathe through my mouth. I stepped carefully over a used needle, my stomach churning. "There's another floor," I pointed to a rusted metal staircase. "Let's check up there."The stairs groaned under our weight, but held. The second level was divided into what must have been offices once—small rooms with broken windows that let in strips of sunlight. Most were empty save for more trash and the occasional filthy mattress.
"Phoenix?" Ricky called again, pushing open a door that hung from one hinge. A small sound answered him—not quite a voice, more like a shifting of fabric. We both froze, listening. There it was again—a soft cough, followed by labored breathing.
I pushed past Ricky into what had once been some kind of storage closet. A figure huddled in the corner, wrapped in a tattered moving blanket. All I could see was a tuft of hair matted with what looked like blood, and the curve of a shoulder. "Phoenix?" I approached slowly, kneeling down a few feet away. The blanket shifted, and a face emerged—or what was left of one. His left eye was swollen shut, the cheekbone beneath it a mottled purple. Dried blood crusted around his split lip and nostrils. But it was the vacant look in his one open eye that chilled me most.
"Jesus Christ," I breathed, reaching toward him instinctively.
He flinched away, pressing himself harder against the wall. "No more," he mumbled through swollen lips. "Got nothing left."
"Phoenix, it's me—Ricky." Ricky crouched beside me, his voice gentle. "And Cole. We've been looking for you, buddy."
Recognition flickered briefly in that one visible eye, followed immediately by wariness. "Why?" The word was slurred, whether from the split lip or concussion, I couldn't tell.
"To make sure you're okay," I said, the words sounding hollow. I fished in my pocket for my phone to call for an ambulance, but Ricky covered mine. “He won’t go.”
“But—” And then my words died. I wasn’t such a fuck I knew he had no health insurance.
“We can take him to the free clinic, but he probably needs more than a Band Aid.”
“He needs a doctor and a bed.”
Ricky moved uncomfortably. “I can give him a couch.”
But I ignored him and carefully reached under Phoenix and lifted him into my arms, standing upright in one move. His eyelids fluttered but didn’t open.
“Jeez,” Ricky murmured. “That training shit for you guys must be brutal.”
I didn’t say that trap bar and Sumo deadlifts were coach’s favorite form of punishment, but I let a little of my dragon strength bleed out to make the lift extra smooth. I didn’t like Phoenix’s breathing, so broken ribs might be an issue. I was going to take him to my apartment, but if his breathing got worse, I was dialing 911 whether he liked it or not. I just couldn't pay the hospital bills in my name or my father would know. “Lead the way to your car. I’ll give you an address.”
As I carried Phoenix through the warehouse, I could feel just how little of him there was beneath the tattered blanket. Each of his ribs pressed against my arms, his body far too light for a man his height. He shivered constantly, a tremor that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside him.
"I can walk," he mumbled, but made no real effort to break free.
"Just let me get you out," I replied, carefully maneuvering down the rusted metal staircase. Each step groaned under our combined weight, but I kept my movements deliberate and smooth. The last thing he needed was to be jostled around. Ricky led the way, pushing aside the loose plywood so I could carry Phoenix through without scraping him against the splintered edges. The bright sunlight made Phoenix wince and turn his face into my chest, his breath hitching in what sounded like pain.
"My car's just over there," Ricky said, pointing to the battered Mazda even though Phoenix wasn't looking. Then he glanced at me. "But the back seat's got the car seat..."
"Front seat reclines," I replied. "He can lie back."
Phoenix's good eye fluttered open as we approached the car, confusion clouding his gaze. "Why are you doing this?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
I didn't have a good answer, at least not one I was ready to articulate. "Because I can," I said finally, which wasn't much of an answer at all. Ricky opened the passenger door, and I carefully lowered Phoenix into the seat. He hissed in pain as his back made contact with the worn upholstery.
"Ribs?" I asked, adjusting the seat to recline as far as it would go.
