Page 7 of Cruel Cravings

We can run it as a front page piece in the next Times.

That way everyone knows your side once and for all. Velvet Piano good?

My fingers punch at the keyboard at greater speed. Each aggressive stroke of a key feels justified in honor of my sister.

It happens to be my favorite bar in the city.

I’ve barely clicked send when his response pops up.

Tomorrow night at seven. Meet me outside

I smirk to no one but myself, my mind made up before I can even process what’s happening. “I promise I will.”

The air is sticky despite the time of year, clinging to my skin like a second layer. I make my way down the crowded street with mynerves on edge. Vale Street is one of the most popular in the city, known for its nightlife.

People are everywhere, laughing, shouting, spilling out of bars in packs of threes and fours. Neon signs buzz overhead and cast pools of pink and green light onto the cracked pavement. I keep my eyes forward and focus on the Velvet Piano up ahead, ignoring how overstimulated I feel on the inside.

Almost there. Almost there.

But I can’t shake the feeling.

It’s the same one that’s crept over me every time I’ve wandered the city since I left the hospital.

I glance over my shoulder and rake my gaze over the countless strangers surrounding me. A group of college students stumbles toward the next bar. A couple argues on the curb near a fire hydrant and no parking zone.

There’s a street performer strumming his guitar for cash.

All inconspicuous to most people.

And yet it couldn’t feel more threatening to me.

I can feel him, lurking just beyond sight. He always is. It’s been years now, but the unease never fades when I’m out like this. He’s not real—Dr. Wolford and Nurse Big Bird have made sure I understand there’s no such thing as a shadow man—but it does nothing to quell the unease inside me.

It’s my imagination. My mind playing tricks. Wires becoming crossed and tangled in my brain.

But these all feel like lies I tell myself to feel better.

Somewhere out there, in the shadows, he’s watching.

I know he is.

My fingers twitch at my sides, unease curling deep in my stomach. I’m only a few steps away from the purple glow that’s the Velvet Piano…

Winston is already waiting outside.

He checks his phone in between puffs of his cigarette. He’s wearing another polo shirt and some slacks that make him look middle-aged and out of style. His hairline’s receding and his glasses look even thicker in person.

“Lyra?” he says. He puts out his cigarette and scans the length of me almost appraisingly. His brows shift closer as if he’s questioning what’s going on.

“You’re… not her,” he says. “Where is she?”

I force a smile. “I’m her sister. The name’s Jacqueline.”

“Oh.” He sounds disappointed for a second, likely because he hasn’t landed the breaking news one-on-one interview with a woman presumed dead like he thought. But then he seems to figure out another angle he can work, because he asks, “Would you like to tell me what you know about your sister? I can still run it as a feature in the paper.”

“I would love to.”

We head inside at Winston’s behest, his hand skimming my back as if to guide me. The bar’s noisy and crowded, people speaking loudly in competition with the live piano music playing.

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