“Me too,” I say honestly.
The call ends.
I stare at the phone in my hand like it might burst into flames. Then I set it down carefully. Like calm is possible if I handle objects gently.
I don’t go right away.
I do something worse.
I wait.
I pace the safehouse until my legs ache. I check the time so many times it becomes a ritual. I drink water. I don’t taste it. I stare out the window at Halo City in daylight, at people who have no idea a man I love might be bleeding on a nightclub floor two miles away.
I hate how helpless time makes you. It doesn’t care about love. Or fear. Or promises.
When the sun starts to fade, I move. I shower. I braid my hair tight. I put on black jeans and boots that can run or kick or both.
I’m aiming for understated lethal. Then I open the side closet and pull out the mask. The one I brought because I never fully trust “safe.” The one I promised myself I wouldn’t need again.
I hold it in my hands for a long beat.
Then I strap it on.
The last thing I grab is my bat.
I tuck a compact blade into my boot. I slide a burner into my pocket. And then, I check myself in the mirror.
The woman staring back at me is not a little sister. Not a crush. Not a girl waiting to be rescued.
She’s a weapon who learned love isn’t passive. Love is action. Love is showing up.
Night settlesover Halo City like a curtain. By the time I’m two blocks fromThe Monarch, I can hear it. Bass thumping faintly through the pavement. Laughter spilling out in sharp bursts. The glow of wealth and rot.
The front entrance is exactly what I expected: lavish, guarded, expensive in the way that screamswe can erase you with a phone call.
I don’t go near it.
I cut around.
My footsteps are quiet in the alley. The dumpsters smell like old beer and bad secrets. The brick walls are tagged with graffiti that looks like warnings if you know how to read them.
I keep my head down and keep moving. Two blocks off the main strip, I find the service entrance Arrow mentioned. It’s a metal door with a keypad that looks ten years out of date. There’s a security camera angled slightly too high to be useful.
My pulse steadies. This is the part where fear becomes focus. I press my ear to the door and hear muffled voices. There’s also music like a heartbeat.
The kind of place that swallows people whole.
“Knight,” I whisper, not a prayer—more like a promise.
I’m not here to ruin his plan.
I’m here because if he’s in trouble, there is no universe where I let him face it alone.
I grip the bat tighter.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
