Prologue
LUCAS
I should have left earlier.
I know it the second I step out of the café and the cold night air bites at my skin. My shift ended hours ago, but when my coworker begged me to cover for him, I couldn’t say no. Rent is due, and the extra pay matters.
The café sits right across from Blackwood University. It’s private, expensive, unreachable—my dream school. Instead, I’m stuck at a community college, working shift after shift to scrape by.
Now I’m paying for it, pedaling my bike through empty streets at 1:05 a.m. The bus is too unreliable this late, and I’m not about to stand at a lonely stop in the middle of the night. My bike, tucked in the café’s garage, is my only option.
I adjust my hearing aid as I ride, fingers brushing the small device. It crackles faintly. In quiet places, it works fine, but outside, every noise blurs together; it’s getting tired, so I don’t blame it.
The alleyway looms ahead. I hate this part of the ride—narrow brick walls pressing in, one flickering streetlamp casting a pale light over cracked pavement. But it shortens the trip to thirty-five minutes instead of fifty. Tonight, that feels worth it.
Until I hear it.
Or maybe feel it.
A low vibration shivers through my hearing aid—distorted grunts, a thud, a muffled groan. My stomach knots before I even see him.
And then I do.
A Man is standing beneath the weak glow of the lamp. Tall. Still. Sharp edges dressed in black. His presence fills the alley like a shadow that doesn’t belong to the night. At his feet, another man slumps against the wall, streaked with blood, chest rising and falling in shallow stutters.
I freeze. Hands clamp hard around the handlebars, my bike rocking under me.
I should turn back. I should wheel around, take the long way, lose myself in the cold streets, even if it means another hour of riding. But I don’t move. My body won’t listen.
And then he looks up.
The moment our eyes meet, air escapes my lungs in a jagged hitch. His gaze is cold, unreadable, impossible to look away from. He’s not surprised to see me. Not startled. Just watching. Curious, maybe.
My thoughts spin too fast.
Should I run? Should I keep moving? Every instinct screams danger, but another voice whispers louder: don’t stop.
So I don’t.
I break eye contact, legs trembling as I push the pedals, inching forward. My body buzzes on high alert, heart hammering in my ears, throat dry. I don’t dare look at the blood again. Don’t dare look back at him.
And yet—strangely—I’m not afraid. Something else hums beneath my skin. Something sharp and restless, the same instinct that kept me alive before. Maybe it’s that, or maybe it’s something about him.
The space between us tightens. Too close. Too charged. He stays still, doesn’t reach out or speak. Yet his gaze follows me as I pass by. It’s heavy, unblinking, but not threatening or indifferent. It’s something else—something I can’t quite name.
Only when the alley leads me back into the open street do I let out a shaky breath. My hands ache from holding the handlebars too tight. My whole body trembles.
I don’t look back.
But I know he’s still watching.
ONE
ALEXANDER
People exhaust me.
Their noise, their constant presence, their insufferable need for attention. I have never cared for small talk, never cared to blend in, and never felt the urge to. Silence suits me better.
