The city never feels safe at night.
Eve has spent years telling herself that darkness is just absence, that shadows only exist because the light allows them to. But tonight, something is different.
She feels him.
Even before she sees him.
It’s in the way the street is quieter than it should be, in the way the air thickens, pressing against her skin like unseen fingers. She walks faster, her heels clicking against the pavement, the neon signs overhead flickering in fractured bursts.
She tells herself she’s imagining things.
Until she hears him.
A voice—low, rich, threaded with something dangerous.
“Running already?”
She freezes.
The hairs on the back of her neck rise, her heartbeat slamming against her ribs like a caged animal. She turns—slowly, cautiously—and then
she sees him.
Damian Cross.
He’s leaning against a streetlight, arms folded, the ghost of a smirk lingering on his lips. His presence is both effortless and overwhelming, like he belongs in the shadows, like he was sculpted from them.
Eve should run.
She should demand answers.
But her voice betrays her.
Damian tilts his head, watching her in that way that feels more like possession than curiosity. “You always move like you know you’re being followed.”
Her fingers twitch. “I’m not.”
He chuckles, a sound that doesn’t belong in polite conversation. “Liar.”
Eve swallows hard, trying to ignore the way the air between them pulses with something unspoken.
“Why are you here?” she forces out.
Damian pushes off the streetlight, stepping closer—not enough to touch, but enough for her to feel the heat radiating from him.
“I wanted to see what would happen if you finally noticed me.”
Eve doesn’t answer.
Because there’s nothing to say.
She has felt him for weeks—watching, lingering at the edges of her world, waiting.
And now, he’s done waiting.
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