Page 12 of The Beautiful Dead

“You here for Deveraux? Heard it’s good.”

“Yeah.” That had been the plan. Before everything fell apart. Before I realized that I had nowhere to stay. The scholarship covered tuition but not food. Not a roof over my head. The fifty bucks in my pocket wouldn’t last long. I’d need a job—fast.

“Do you need a minute?”

I blinked, confused. “What?”

Her lips twitched. “To order, honey.”

“Oh.” My face warmed. “Uh… coffee and cheesy fries.”

“Great choice, hun.”

She held out her hand. “I’m Doll.”

I hesitated. I wasn’t a fan of physical contact. People were too hot and their skin too soft. Touch repelled me. Still, I forced my hand into hers for the briefest shake before retreating.

“I’ll bring it over in a sec,” she said, either not noticing or not commenting on my discomfort. “If you need anything, let me know.”

“Sure.”

The shadows felt heavier as she walked away. They felt like home.

I flipped open my sketchbook to a blank page—crisp white, like fresh bone stripped of flesh. My pencil hovered for a moment before my gaze wandered across the diner, taking in the shifting crowd.

The energy had changed. The group on the other side of the diner had grown.

The latest additions were not college kids. They sat like kings in their own space, backs to the walls, eyes tracking movement like hunters. Men in their mid to late twenties, but the weight they carried aged them beyond their years. Something clung to them—a darkness, an aura of violence and control that made the others give them a wide berth.

They weren’t just passing through. That’s when I noticed the discarded newspaper on the table across from me. I snatched it up, flipping it open in search of rental listings or shelters—anything that could tell me where I’d be sleeping tonight. But it was the bold headline that caught my attention:

WHISPERS OF WAR: DEMARCO VS. GALLO—WHO WILL FALL FIRST?

What the hell was that supposed to mean? Everyone knew cities thrived on corruption, built on a web of lies so thick it was impossible to untangle. But this?

A feud between influential families?

Something darker?

Was the underworld on the verge of war?

Would the streets run red until only one side remained standing? Or was it a case of mutually assured destruction? Images flicked through my mind like a twisted fantasy of darkness. Hiding in the shadows, watching death and destruction first hand. Guns or blades?

A clatter of porcelain snapped me from my thoughts. “I wouldn’t pay too much attention to that,” Doll said, setting my coffee and fries down beside the paper.

I glanced up. “Do you know anything about it?”

She hesitated for half a second too long. “There’s not much to say,” she murmured. “Just don’t get lost in the shadows.”

“Huh?”

She shook her head, brushing it aside. Subject closed. “I got a text from Arti,” she said instead. “Told me you were coming by. Said you’re looking for a room?”

“Something like that.”

Doll’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Brielle is a selfish bitch.” She placed a hand over her chest. “You didn’t hear that from me, but it’s better to stay away from her and her family.”

I scoffed. “Kinda hard when she’s my aunt.”

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