Page 138 of Nocturne

She doesn’t give him a chance to recover. There’s a sickening finality when her fist lands against his face. The sound of bone against bone. I can almost feel it in my own skull, but I don’t dare blink. I know he’s finished. He crumples like a rag doll, his body no longer a threat.

The room is still, the silence deafening. I don’t know how it ended—how it was over so quickly—but the men lie in various states of unconsciousness or worse.

The mystery figure stands at the centre of it all, breathing steadily, almost like she didn’t just tear through a room of men twice her size. I still can’t see her clearly, but something in the way she moves tells me everything I need to know. I look around for my glasses, finding them beside Yuri and am quick to put them on.

She’s dangerous, and dangerous people didn’t help without a reason.

As if my thoughts were audible, she turns, her heeled boots stepping into the light first before her entire frame does.

Thirty-Seven

Ara

I think there is someone up there who detests that I lack the ability to be surprised anymore. Hence, I stand here in utter shock while I try to wrap my head around the murder and mayhem here.

One emotion rings clearly out of all the cocktails I feel.

Betrayal.

It’s ugly and potent, and it wants to rear its vicious head, but I push it down, meeting the hard look of the perpetrator with my own confident stride. I don’t have to feel the courage to fake it.

And for a second, between the fight, to think that the fates were done throwing me curveballs. But it seems like they weren’t.

“Harley,” I say, not recognising my voice anymore.

"Just a minute, darling," she answers, her tone calm as she continues tying the men in place, her movements smooth and deliberate. "Need to make sure these arseholes stay down long enough for us to have a chat."

And in that moment, the woman before me is a stranger. The Harley I knew, the one who I’d called a friend, who had been my confidante, is gone. In her place stands a woman who radiates power, cold and unyielding.

She’s taller than I remember, no longer hunched or meek. The platinum blonde hair I used to associate with softness is now pulled into a tight ponytail, the strands almost painfully taut.Her clothes, once casual and easy, now cling to her in the form of black leather, hugging her body like it was made for it. The leather suits her—sharp, lethal, and dangerous, like a second skin. Stiletto boots add a few inches to her height, making her look more like a predator than a person. The makeup is bold, the red lipstick cutting through the darkness like a warning.

And the confidence in her? It’s no longer hidden behind that soft tremor of doubt that used to haunt her voice. The Harley I knew was tentative and uncertain. This woman—this warrior—is something else entirely.

"Vince," she calls, her voice holding none of the softness it once had.

It’s clipped, and commanding. The name hangs in the air, and I watch as a man steps from the shadows. He’s young, too young to be involved in something this savage, but there he is, wearing the same dark attire, the same weapons at his waist. His round glasses reflect the dim light as he bends to tie the men together, his every movement filled with practised precision.

He bends and starts tying the men together while Harley creaks her neck.

"To think he would send someone capable," Harley murmurs to herself, glancing down at the leader she just kicked aside.

She looks at him as if he’s nothing more than an inconvenience, her gaze cold and assessing.

Vince glares at her back as she walks towards the kitchen counter, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. She seems so different now—like she’s stepped into a role she was always meant to play. She sits on the counter with eerie grace, one leg resting casually over the head of the bald man, her eyes glintingwith something dark and dangerous as Vince finishes securing the last of the men.

“Surprise?” Harley calls, drawing my attention back to her.

I can feel the anger boiling in my blood, a fiery rush that makes my teeth clench so hard it hurts. But beneath it, there’s something else. A sinking sense of betrayal that threatens to suffocate me.

She lied to me. Every word, every smile, every gesture—it was all a façade. I should’ve known. Yuri tried to warn me. I didn’t listen.

I bend to check Yuri’s pulse, my heart thudding painfully in my chest. His arms are broken—completely shattered. I nearly break down as I feel his pulse, weak but steady. He’s still alive. He can still be saved. I make a move to take him out of the house.

“Not so soon, kid.”

I turn to her, noticing what it was that always put me off of her. It is not her attire, her confidence, or the sheer display of lethal skills. It was her eyes and now, the smile on her face. She has done a tremendous job of hiding the sheer madness in those eyes. Bordering on dementedness. Her smile is one that matches a wicked devil more than a human. And I know her saving me was not out of the goodness of her heart.

“He needs to get to the hospital,” I say.

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