“Yeah,” I say, forcing a shaky laugh. “Just out here ruining my reputation. Normal teenage stuff.”
He’s scanning the street, muscles taut, every inch of him screaming danger. I know enough to recognize when predators circle each other. My chest tightens.
And then, Enzo appears.
Great.
His gun is already raised. He doesn’t even consider another option.
The music from the club booms behind us, neon light painting Enzo’s face in fractured blues and reds as he comes through the door. My stomach knots so hard it hurts. The silence between him and the boy from the shadows is unbearable—they’re both too still, too alert.
“Enzo, no!” My voice breaks out of me too fast, too desperate. “I’m fine, he didn’t do anything. I was just… having fun!”
“Fun?” Enzo repeats, his tone razor-thin. “That’s what you call this?”
I almost want to laugh. “Yes? I don’t know, Enzo, I’m sixteen! I’ve never been to a club, never kissed anyone, never… done anything. And the one night I do, everyone shows up with guns? Kinda ruins the vibe.”
But the joke dies on my lips. Because Enzo isn’t laughing. No one is. They’re locked on each other, and I swear if I breathe too loudly, someone will pull the trigger.
Elijah’s grip tightens around my arm, keeping me right where he wants me. I hate it. I hate how safe it feels even as it cages me.
“Please,” I beg, my voice cracking, my sarcasm gone. “Enzo, don’t. For me. Please.”
For a split second, I see something in his eyes. Doubt. Conflict. Maybe he hears me.
And then—click.
Another gun cocks from the shadows. My blood runs ice-cold. Whoever it is, they’re ready to finish what Enzo started.
“Get in the car, Aurelia,” Enzo orders, flat and final. “Gen is waiting for you there.”
I choke back a sob. “Enzo, no.”
Finally, his gaze cuts to mine. His eyes burn, and I hate that I still see something human in them. Something that looks a little like love. “He’ll be fine,” he lies, steady as stone. “Get in the car.”
Elijah doesn’t hesitate. His hand clamps down harder, dragging me back. I thrash, twisting, but I can’t break free. My eyes dart to him—always shadow, always just out of reach. My chest aches like I’m losing something I never even got to have.
Then the night splits.
BANG.
The gunshot tears through the alley, deafening. My ears ring. My throat locks on a scream.
I desperately fight Elijah’s grip, but he’s already shoving me into the car. The door slams shut, cutting me off from the only boy who ever made me feel like I wasn’t just locked in a cage.
The engine revs. The alley disappears.
And I never saw him clearly. Not once.
* * *
The ride home is too quiet. My head won’t stop spinning—the club, Elijah’s mouth on Gen, Enzo disappearing every five minutes like some phantom, and the gunshot that still rings in my ears.
My hands curl into fists against my dress. I can’t even untangle the night in my head. Every piece cuts, every thought makes me want to scream.
By the time the estate gates swing open, I’m vibrating with it. I shove the car door before it even stops rolling, heels hammering stone, marble, anything that’ll carry the sound of how done I am.
I protest for a moment before joining them in the foyer.
