Shadow limps toward me one more step. His talons curl into his palms with anger—or maybe frustration.
He opens his mouth and I know he’s about to say something, but red and blue lights swirl into the restaurant, accompanied by the creaking of car doors opening.
"Go," I say, jerking my head.
Shadow hesitates, his eyes now pools of darkness, betraying a flicker of emotion. "I will come back for you."
Something inside of me cracks open. Those words. Those words are all I have ever longed to hear from him; they fill me with an aching hope I can barely contain. My chest heaves as I struggle to take in oxygen.
"I’ll wait for you," I manage to whisper back.
Shadow closes his eyes and disappears in a dark haze. The empty space he leaves is filled with the echoes of his transformation. I’m not sure if he turned invisible, teleported to where he came from or simply became mist on the wind, but one minute he’s there and then he’s not.
"In here," I call out to the emergency services. "Help! Someone’s hurt." I wave my hands high, hoping no one shoots me on sight.
The wail of sirens grows louder, the red and blue lights painting the pho restaurant in a dizzying array of emergency. Miguel's unconscious form is a weight that pins me between duty and the instinct to flee. The battle's aftermath is chaos, the monster's remains now nothing but a corrosive stain on the tile.
As paramedics rush in, I am oddly detached, my voice a hollow echo that directs them to Miguel. The touch of their hands feels alien as they gently pry me away from him. They're speaking—urgent, clinical words that make little sense to me. My gaze lingers on Miguel, his stillness a stark contrast to the frenetic activity around us even as they wheel him away on a gurney.
The nights ahead are uncertain, but one thing is clear—I’m not alone. Not while Shadow lives.
But that doesn’t help me now as I face down the cops surrounding a scene I can’t explain. An invisible hand squeezes around my throat as I enter a new arena of danger—one filled with humans I know can never truly be trusted. No matter what they wear or badge they hold.
Attention-Seeker
Isit on the back of an ambulance wrapped up in a shiny metal blanket meant to help the shock. A paramedic has already seen to my arms. The puncture wounds are disinfected and bandaged. The cops are as kind as they are bewildered by the scene of destruction.
Then they look me up in the system and the kindness morphs into suspicion.
This isn’t the first time I’ve been connected to carnage and the claim of monsters.
They take me to the precinct. Because of my record, I get my own private interrogation room. Lucky me.
A musty scent fills the air, and it’s dimly lit since one of the fluorescent lights is broken and only occasionally flickering on before giving up.
Needing something to warm up my insides, I break down and ask for a coffee. My hands wrap around the paper cup of scalding liquid like it’s my only lifeline as they ask me for the sixth time what really happened.
There is no point in lying, so I tell them monsters attacked. I leave out my connection to the Shadow monster. I ask aboutMiguel, but they don’t tell me anything. Instead, they leave the room probably to talk about how crazy I am.
The Shadow that left me had been fundamentally altered. The last time he consumed a monster heart, he was changed, but this… This is more extreme. He's more monstrous, more dangerous, yet somehow, still Shadow.
Or maybe I’m an idiot who put her faith in a monster no matter what fate or death it could lead to.
Sipping the liquid battery acid they are passing off as coffee, I wonder if they will arrest me. I can’t imagine what for, but I’m not a cop. I don’t know my rights. And if I were them, I’d think I was crazy.
Afterall, I still haven’t ruled that out myself.
As the clock ticks on with excruciating slowness, I sit and wait, wondering if Miguel is dying. Has he woken up and told them everything? Does he hate me beyond all measure?
I deserve his hatred.
Maybe I should be in jail. Maybe it’d be safer for other people if I was locked away.
Before I left the scene of destruction, I texted Helena which hospital Miguel was taken to. If she texted back, I wouldn’t know. They took my phone.
Eventually two new male detectives enter, sliding another cup of coffee toward me. I’m not done with the first one but it’s gone ice cold, so I greedily wrap my hands around the near-scalding paper cup. Living in a boiling apartment must have thinned my blood.
The sharp scent stings my nostrils and excites my nerves, despite my being exhausted.
