Page 5 of Nocturne

Emotions are double-edged—a lifeline for one, a noose for another.

I pull the gun out which has Nero stopping in his tracks. The boss is still not looking at us, but I see Nero’s hands travel tohis back. I don’t give myself the time to contemplate or hesitate. Hesitating even for a second in situations like this means life or death.

And I choose life.

I aim and pull the trigger. Before he can grab his weapon, Nero falls face down with a bullet wound in his forehead. Having a precise aim has become easy once I learned that firing a gun is all about physics. Once you understand the science behind it, your aim gets better. Your stance gets better and you can withstand the recoil tension after firing.

The dull thud of the body hitting the ground has the boss’s head snap towards Nero who lies dead on the dusty floor. Crimson flows from his wound and travels to mix with the ones of the corpses behind us. I ready myself to fire again, knowing it won’t be long before the boss draws his weapon. The initial shock won’t last—men like him recover too quickly.

My finger curls around the trigger, steady, but then... I feel it—the air shifts, charged with something dark, something dangerous. It makes the hair on my neck rise, warning me that a predator has entered this room.

Being kidnapped and held by monsters left me with trauma that would send most psychologists running for cover. But it did more than that—it sharpened my senses in ways others can’t comprehend. I’m more attuned to my surroundings than most, reading shifts in the air, and movements in the dark. I don’t hear anything, but I feel it.

We’re not alone anymore.

My grip tightens on the gun as I glance toward the man still standing, his teeth clenched in fury as he stares at his fallen comrade. I can only hope whoever just arrived isn’t his backup.

“You. Fucking, bitch!” He growls.

The boss throws down his cigar in a fit as he shouts at me. My concentration snaps back at him and I aim.

I aim for his jugular, bracing myself for the recoil and trying to keep my hands from shivering after the last shot. I’m pretty sure Nero’s useless face will haunt my nightmares from now on—joining the countless others I see when I close my eyes. Innocents and enemies. He wasn’t innocent, not by any stretch, but he’s still another life I’ve taken to keep breathing.

Survival comes at a cost. And I’ve been paying for it a long time.

“Why don’t you leave him to us, sweetheart?”

Sharp and audible, a voice cuts through the room like a blade. It’s enough to send a jolt of fear through the boss, his eyes widening, the cocky facade slipping.

My gaze snaps toward the entryway.

Three figures stand there, their shadows stretching long across the floor, impossible to miss. But my attention locks on the one in the middle—the one who seems to carry both life and death on his shoulders, larger than either. He hasn’t spoken. I know that much. The voice came from his right, but it doesn’t matter.

I can’t look away from him.

Something about him keeps me rooted, torn between fear and something far more dangerous—awe.

The moment my eyes clash with his—dark and restless, like storm clouds brewing over a raging ocean—I know.

Life, as I’ve known it, ends here.

Two

Ara

There are many anomalies in this universe—parallel worlds, the end of time, dark matter lurking in the void. Science can explain some, while others remain beyond comprehension.

In this moment, he feels like the biggest anomaly of all—something that shouldn’t exist, yet here he stands, larger than life, breaking every law of the world I thought I understood. With the rest of him shrouded in darkness, and only his eyes visible that appear to be dead at best, he looks formidable.

Under the moonlight, his stormy grey eyes gleam with a brilliance that seems almost unreal, like they hold secrets no one should know.

He must stand at a height of at least six foot seven. If his outline is any indication, he is packed with muscles. His biceps appear to be bigger than my face. No one packed with such a heavy figure should be able to move as fluidly as he does. He seems to command the shadows at his whim, willing them to conceal him as he deems fit.

His entry has caused a shift in the air. A palpable tension has risen, and I don’t know if everyone else can also sense his aura brimming with raw power and darkness.

His eyes are on me, the dead pools of grey sending waves of dilemmatic emotions into me. I’m scared and curious at the same time.

I’m used to fear; I’ve been living in fear all these years. But the pique of my curiosity, which I thought I buried, scares me more. I’m not allowed to be curious; it always brings trouble to my doorstep.

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