The room felt emptier than it should have.
Jodie was gone. Just like that. Her mother had walked in, hugged her like she hadn't nearly vanished from her life for years, and taken her away. A suitcase she didn't even pack herself. No warning. No goodbye that sounded final.
Just a wink, and
"Try not to miss me too much, Elle."
I wasn't angry with the way she left, I didn't blame her. Who'd hesitate to leave with their parents if they returned?
Now, it was just me and the creaking ceiling fan and the scent of Jodie's shampoo lingering on the pillow she slept on for two years.
I sat there, watching the empty bed. Trying to pretend it didn't feel like something had been ripped out of my chest. Maybe it was dumb, but Jodie was the first person who felt like… a sister. Or the closest thing I had left of one.
I didn't cry. I wasn't going to. But God, it was quiet.
The old grey-haired lady didn't say a word about it. No lecture. No awkward comfort. Just a half-shut door and a muttered,
"Don't loiter."
I didn't loiter, I walked.
Anywhere but that room.
The sun was hot outside, but I didn't care. Luckily I avoided wearing anything too hot. I walked until I saw the edge of the street party crowd, all music and smoke and sweat stained bodies pressed too close together. I didn't feel like dancing, but I didn't want to think either.
So I stood under a broken streetlight, hugging myself and pretending the noise made me feel less alone.
That's when I saw him again.
Night Angel.
He leaned against the wall of a shuttered tattoo parlour like he belonged in shadows. Alone. Watching. Always watching.
The same hoodie, the same ink-dark hair. A cigarette between his fingers, half burned and forgotten.
And for a second, just one second, our eyes met.
Like the first time I immediately looked away, scared he caught me staring.
But then I looked back again and he was still staring.
He didn't smile. He didn't wave. He just looked at me.
Then he nodded once, slow, and flicked his cigarette away without breaking eye contact.
I don't know why I walked over. I didn't even mean to.
I got halfway and stopped.
He straightened from the wall. Walked toward me, slow. Heavy boots on cracked concrete. Not a sound in the world except the faint bass from across the block and my heartbeat ringing like church bells in my ears.
Lucien stopped a few feet away. Not close enough to touch. Just close enough to make me feel like he could see too much.
"You always wander off alone?" he asked, voice dry and sharp as a blade.
I didn't answer. I couldn't.
He glanced down at my hands. They were shaking.
"Your girl left," he said like he already knew.
I looked at him. "How do you...."
He didn't let me finish. "You stand like someone who's used to holding on to things that walk away."
I swallowed.
Then he did something strange.
He leaned in just enough to whisper,
"Next time you want to disappear, try somewhere they don't look for ghosts."
And just like that, he walked off again.
No name. No goodbye. Just the cold scent of smoke and steel trailing behind him.
'Try somewhere they don't look for ghosts' What the heck does that even mean?
Shrugging what he said off my mind, I stood there for a long time after that.
Long enough to know I would see him again.
The music thumped through the cracked brick walls, but my feet moved without rhythm. I didn't know why I followed the same path Lucien took. Maybe I wanted another glimpse. Maybe I wanted to understand why my chest tightened every time I thought about him.
I turned a corner near the back of the club where the neon lights didn't reach and the night swallowed everything whole.
That's when I heard something, a soft grunt.
The metallic snap of something sharp.
Peeking around the dumpster, I saw him.
He stood with his back slightly hunched, murmuring to a man pressed against the wall. The man's face was pale, panicked nodding, nodding like a rabbit staring down a wolf.
Then I saw him tuck something into the frightened man's arm, obviously cash.
I caught a glimpse of something in Night Angel's arm... A blade?
My breath caught.
He turned his head slightly... and for a horrifying second... I thought he saw me.
No. He just lit a cigarette.
But then... his eyes flicked toward the shadows where I stood.
I froze.
He didn't move. Didn't speak. Just exhaled a trail of smoke and let his gaze linger on the dark corner where I hid. And then as if dismissing me, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the night with the same cold calm he wore like a second skin.
What the hell did I just see?
LUCIEN'S POV
"You're going to do exactly as I say. Quietly. Corner…" I murmured, casual as sin, the blade twirling lazily between my fingers.
He was close...close enough that I wouldn't need to lift my hand high to make him bleed.
"Y...yes… yes, I will. Please, just...please don't kill me…" the old man stammered, voice cracking as he backed into the wall like it could save him.
Begging never did suit him.
"Here's what's going to happen," I said calmly, stepping in, blade catching the dim alley light. "You're going to drop every damn accusation against him, every investigation, every whisper. It ends tonight."
The old man trembled. "But… the evidence… the board..."
I pressed the flat of the blade gently against his chest. "If you so much as breathe his name again, your family won't exist by morning. That clear enough?"
He nodded furiously, sweat dripping down his wrinkled brow.
"Yes… yes! Please, I swear—no more questions, nothing! Just… let them live…"
I slid a thick envelope from my coat pocket and shoved it into his shaking hands.
"$300,000. Consider it a retirement bonus. Leave. Change your name. I don't care where you go, but if I ever hear of you again..." I leaned closer, voice low and deadly, "...I'll gut you before you blink."
He grasped the envelope like it was a life raft and scrambled off into the shadows.
Then I felt it. A flicker in the air. A presence. Eyes.
My fingers froze mid-tuck as I slid the blade back into my coat. I didn't turn right away.
But I knew someone was there.
Watching.
It was her, she saw me.
Hiding behind the rusted dumpster like a kitten lost in the wrong street. I knew she was there before I even stepped into the alley. I heard her shallow breathing... one of the perks of silence is hearing what doesn't belong.
She didn't scream.
That's the part I'm still thinking about.
She didn't scream. Just stared like she was watching the world twist into something darker and couldn't look away.
The idiot in front of me was shaking so hard he could barely speak. Pathetic.
He was scared but she wasn't.
Not enough.
Not yet.