TAKE ME FIRST
ZACK
Detroit starts bleeding into the horizon long before the city actually appears.
It seeps in through the cracked sky, the way the air thickens as we cross the state line—heavy with rain and old industry—like the land itself remembers too much. The road hums beneath the tires, a low, constant vibration that settles deep in my bones. Every mile marker feels like a warning I’m choosing to ignore.
I’ve never been good at listening to warnings.
Hazel sits beside me with her legs tucked up on the seat, her hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, phone glowing softly against the dim interior of the car. She hums under her breath—something light, meant to keep the quiet from swallowing us whole. I don’t recognize the song, but I recognize the tactic. She fills silence the way some people fill empty rooms with laughter, as if sound alone can keep the darkness from creeping in.
It doesn’t work on me.
The city ahead feels wrong. It’s one of those places that always has felt wrong, and it’s purely because it isn’t just geography—it’s memories. It’s where systems failed and people vanished. Where I learned the hard way that evil doesn’t announce itself, doesn’t kick in doors or leave calling cards. It waits. It watches. It slips its hands into places no one thinks to look.
And now Hazel is here. Sitting in my car, forcing herself into my orbit, and my cold, dead heart won’t ever admit that she’s grown on me more than I care to admit.
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel without realizing it, my body so tight that one small motion could break me.
“You’re doing the jaw thing,” Hazel says, glancing over at me.
I don’t look at her. “I don’t have ajaw thing.”
She snorts softly. “You do. You clench when you’re thinking about bad things.”
I let a terse exhale out my nose, and I know she isn’t wrong—and that somehow irritates me more than if she were.
“We’ll be fine,” she adds, quieter now, like she’s saying it more for herself than for me.
I finally look at her then. The streetlights smear gold across her face as we pass beneath them, catching her eyes and making them glow. She looks tired. Braver than she should have to be. And too damn trusting of the world, despite everything it’s taken from her.
“We’re not here to sight see,” I say. “Once we get to the safehouse, you stay inside. No wandering, no late-night runs, and no answering numbers you don’t recognize.”
Hazel’s smile flickers, then settles into something more serious. She doesn’t argue. That alone puts me on edge.
“You know I don’t think this is a vacation, right?” she asks, softly.
The words land heavier than expected.
I nod once. “I know.”
“Then stop acting like you’re the only one allowed to be scared.”
That does it. That cracks something open in my chest I didn’t realize I’d sealed shut.
I don’t respond, instead I just focus on the road and the way the city skyline rises out of the rain in a jagged silhouette. Detroit watches us arrive, unwelcoming and indifferent, as if it already knows how this ends.
A gas station comes up on the right, its fluorescent lights buzzing weakly against the dark. I pull in more out of instinct than necessity, a lifetime of habits kicking in when my nerves start screaming. Hazel stretches as she unbuckles.
“I’ll grab snacks,” she says, already reaching for the door.
“No.” The word comes out sharp, clipped.
She freezes, eyebrows lifting.
I force myself to breathe, to dial it back. “We’ll go, together,” I amend. “Stay close.”
Her gaze studies me for a long second, then she nods. “Okay.”
