Page 20 of Nocturne
After a few seconds of silence, Zion props his elbows on the table. “So what now? Midnight Echoes ain’t playing gang wars anymore. They got politicians in their pockets, cash coming from shady places. This shit’s gonna be on another level.”
Grace nods, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “Their alliance’s getting stronger, but we both know it won’t last long. These things only end when the first bullet flies. They want to run Boston, and big players are backing them, politicians, money, influence… this ain’t no joke.”
I stay quiet. They notice. No need to say it out loud ’cause we all know what’s coming. But Grace still stares at me. “You good?”
I take a deep breath, look out the window. The street’s empty, the sign’s reflection dancing in a puddle. “We’re stepping into a game that can tear everything apart.It ain’t just about power, it’s about who’s left standing when this war’s over.”
We’ve known each other too long to pretend we ain’t family. No blood, but history, scars, secrets. I care about them, Grace, strong but carrying a weight she tries to hide, and Zion, looking invincible but far from it. They’re the only ones who really get me, and maybe that’s why I feel like I gotta keep them safe. Losing this family ain’t an option.
“You all gotta watch your backs. Stay sharp. It ain’t just Midnight Echoes making moves, there’s shit happening we don’t even see. This whole thing won’t end well if we slip up.” My voice comes out heavier than I thought, and I catch Grace and Zion exchanging looks.
“What the fuck, man? What’s going on?” Zion asks, frowning.
“Nothing,” I cut him off quick. “Listen to what I’m saying, please.”
I go quiet for a moment, staring at the empty street. The alliance between Nocturne Pact and Iron Requiem wasn’t supposed to happen like this. It was meant to be different. I was supposed to stay distant, watch Damon from afar, no contact, no mess. But I found out a while ago that he’s back on the trail of who killed his brother. He found a lead. And that… that’s gonna blow everything up.
Sometimes, all I wanna do is sit Damon down and just spill it all. Everything. What happened, what I did, why this whole fucked-up mess exists. Why keep it inside? Fuck, it’s eating me alive. But saying it out loud? Thatcould wreck everything. Fuck, I don’t even know if he’d survive it. I’m not sure I would. Maybe I’m a fucking coward. Or maybe I’m just trying to protect the part of him that still doesn’t truly hate me. Because, as fucked up as it sounds… It hurts less knowing he hates me for the wrong reason than watching him hate me for the right one.
What’s gonna happen when Damon finds out I killed his brother?
Is there gonna be anything left of all this? Or will this war end up destroying everything, him, me, us?
That’s the shit that wakes me up in the middle of the night and won’t let me sleep easily. And I don’t know if I’m ready to face that truth. But it’s coming, ready to swallow me whole.
?????
I wake up in the middle of the night, body drenched in cold sweat, like I’ve been drowning in a sea of frozen flames. The darkness around me weighs like stone, crushing me inside an invisible tomb, where the air thins out and the silence feels like a blade buried in my chest. Every rapid heartbeat is a punch splitting me open, ribs burning like they’ve been squeezed by invisible hands — a pain that hits the skin, the soul, the memory.
The nightmares drag me under, choking me in a brutal grip. Cruel echoes of the past — the kind of shit that shattered me into pieces and stitched me back together by force, forging the killer trapped inside this exhausted body. The bed beside me is too cold, too empty — the thincurtain dances with the sharp wind pouring in through the wide-open window, bringing the damp scent of the early hours and a cold that crawls into my bones and sets them on fire.
Out there, the city breathes — distant, untouchable. Footsteps echo on the empty asphalt, engines purr low in the background, a cold symphony that feels like it’s mocking my torment. In here, silence is a scream lodged in my throat — a weight that chokes, that won’t let me forget who I really am.
Suddenly, my body jolts. Cold sweat slithers down my skin like a venomous snake, and I fall into a pit where fire and ice mix, burning every inch of me. My heart’s going insane, pounding hard enough to rip my soul out through my mouth. Every breath is a punch to the gut. The air won’t go in — I’m drowning in my own panic, suffocated by shadows that have no shape but consume every piece of me.
I open my eyes. Darkness. The open window lets the curtain sway slowly, like the wind’s whispering dark secrets only I can hear. The city’s still alive out there, indifferent. But all I see is the cruel shadow of that hellish night — the memory carved into my skin, a silent scream trapped inside my chest. A prison with no walls, no doors, where I’m held hostage by my own fucking nightmare.
I remember the cutting cold, the ice water choking me like it was trying to rip my soul out. They drown you without letting you die, shoving fear so deep inside you think you’re gonna snap. Flashing lights, a hellstorm of noise that scrambles your mind — sirens, screams,constant chaos meant to break you down, leave you with no way out. They throw you into chairs that make your whole body scream, but the physical pain’s the least of it.
Hunger. Thirst. Your body locked in positions that snap bones if you twitch, head splitting from nonstop interrogations — the same shit repeated over and over until you don’t know if you’re answering questions or just repeating meaningless noise. “Good cop, bad cop” is just a dirty game to crush anyone who tries to hold on — fake smiles followed by fists, threats hanging in the air even when nobody says a word.
They wanna bleed you dry — memories, allies, secrets. They twist the truth, lie to your face, make you question yourself, your voice, your fucking sanity. They throw you into a loop of fear and pain until everything inside you fractures. And in the middle of that, no one’s coming to save you. Not the cops, not the ones who are supposed to be the shield. Hell no. Some of them are the monsters who let you drown in the silence of official records, where none of it ever happened.
That shit stuck with me. Still here, locked in my chest, making my blood boil.
CHAPTER 3
DAMON
“Why the fuck am I always the last to know everything?” I growl, throwing open Carter’s office door, spitting the words like they’re burning my throat. The air inside is thick—drenched in smoke and tension—and the metallic stench of gunpowder and old whiskey churns my stomach.
My hands still tremble with rage. I can’t swallow this shitty truce. Everyone in Nocturne’s swallowing it way too easy, like kneeling’s safer than fighting back. Scared of retaliation. Scared of Carter. But I’m not like that. Never was. Not even before I joined this gang.
Carter eyes me slow, his gaze narrow and sharp as blades. The dim light from the desk lamp carves shadows across his face, painting a mask of cold, calculating authority. “Tone it down, kid. Learn to talk before you come barking. Lost your damn mind?”
His voice isn’t loud. It’s steady. Cuts like ice. Most people shake even when he smiles—that crooked, unreadable smile that promises a slow death if you step out of line. But I’ve learned to read past that. I’ve seen him blow his top, and this... this is him being fucking gentle. “You were last to know exactly because of that impulsive bullshit reaction of yours,” he goes on, rising slowly from his chair like the weight of the whole room bends with him. “And look... it didn’t fucking help a thing.”
I step forward, chest blazing.
