Page 90 of Nocturne

I wince when the top three boxes fall and cause heavy noise, which is a sure-shot way to announce our place of hiding. But I still close the remaining three crates to cover the hole through which we crawled in, holding onto a stupid hope that they didn’t hear it.

With frustration and wild fury coating my insides, I turn around and crawl until I can see the silhouette of Ivy’s standing form. I don’t even bother to stand on my legs before I pin the side of her face with a glare while she looks at something ahead of her.

“Might as well slam on these walls and announce them where we are hiding, you pea-brained midget!” I sit back on my knees when my palms sting and frown when Ivy doesn’t even turn to look at me.

“Annoying twat.” I grumble as I turn around to see what is so great that held her attention.

I don’t see the dim light until I turn, and then it catches me—no,pinsme—in place. The sight that meets my eyes brings a clash of emotions: shock, fear, and something else, something magnetic and wrong that pulls me in against all reason.

Under the low light, Zagan leans against the container wall, hands shoved deep into his pockets, a cigarette dangling from his lips, the smoke curling lazily around him. There are wooden crates behind him, and I just know that he wouldn’t be here if they were anything legal.

His posture is deceptively casual, but there’s an intensity in his gaze that’s anything but. His eyes sweep over me with a lookthat’s blank but all-seeing, a force that leaves me unable to move or breathe.

Another man stands beside him, and though I can’t fully see him in the dim light, his presence feels like ice in my veins. His suit is immaculate, and he carries himself with a quiet, cutting edge. Tall, with cheekbones that look sharp enough to wound, covered in light subtle and a jawline that holds no softness, he radiates control. Even without seeing his eyes, I feel the cold detachment in his demeanour. Every edge of him is honed, refined—a dagger disguised as a man.

And yet, for all the intimidation this stranger holds, it’s Zagan who keeps my attention, and the tight coil of fear in my chest unfurls into something confusing and dangerous. This man beside him holds power like a fighter—unshakable, distant. But Zagan... Zagan's presence feels raw, and reckless, like the primal danger of a beast that can’t be tamed. He’s not just powerful; he’s feral, exuding an authority that’s both terrifying and… undeniable.

And somehow, I can’t tear my gaze away.

“Wandering again?”

My eyes snap towards the towering man inside the space, who speaks with a delusive calm as he switches on a few more lights.

I can now see the expression on Zagan’s face, and it does not look pretty. If I had any other option, I would be running to the hills instead of being turned into a stone on the spot.

Ivy takes a step forward.

“We’re being chased,” she says, glancing between them.

I flick my gaze toward the stranger for a moment, catching the glint of haunting amber eyes that track every movement Ivy and I make. I was right—there’s nothing warm about him, just a chilling, detached intensity.

Suddenly, a loud crash echoes against the metal walls of the container to my left, followed by the hoarse shouts of the men chasing us. A startled scream escapes my lips as I instinctively scurry closer to Zagan, seeking refuge in his imposing presence. Better the devil I knew than the ones who are intent on killing me.

I don’t think twice before hiding behind his towering frame, but I am mindful about not touching him. Up this close, I look like a dwarf compared to this gigantic man who is rippling with muscles and raw power oozing off him. I am easily hidden behind him, and he looks behind his shoulder, his impossibly handsome face giving nothing away.

Ivy stands in a corner to my right, somewhere far from both men.

“Can you help us?” I look up at him.

He turns his body sideways.

“Of course I can.” It is impressive how he can make those words sound so arrogant in his gruff and monotonous voice.

Suppressing the urge to roll my eyes because I need his help, I try another approach.

“Will you help us?” I try again.

This time, he turns his whole body to face mine. It is difficult not to take an instinctive step back at his imposing presence, but Isomehow manage. His meticulous eyes rove over my dishevelled appearance until he looks down at my bare feet. His gaze stays on them for a second longer before he turns back to my eyes, still having that annoying poker face on him.

Maybe all he felt was anger on rare occasions, and most of the time, maybe he didn’t feel anything at all.

What a lonely way to live. A flicker of sympathy rises inside my heart for this man.

“Why should I?” he raises a brow.

And he blows away that flicker of sympathy I just felt. He should stay alone all his life. But I cannot say that to him now as I need his help.

“Because we are in trouble!”

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