Page 50 of Nocturne
“I gotta get back on the pills, but not yet… Shit’s too real right now, can’t turn into some junkie zombie,” I say, trying to sound strong, trying to be honest.
But as soon as the words leave, I feel those invisible chains from my past tightening on my chest, locking me inside a cell with no door.
CHAPTER 11
DAMON
Three Weeks Later
It’s been three weeks since Hunter kissed me, and ever since, I’ve had to keep my distance. Not by choice, but out of necessity. Thinking about it makes me wanna punch a fucking hole through the wall. I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that I gave in—that I kissed him back. I kissed the damn enemy, the one I was trained to hate from the second I got recruited into the Nocturne Pact.
I kissed him. The enemy. My enemy. How the fuck did my lips betray me like that? Every fiber of my being screamed no—but I couldn’t stop myself. It felt like drowning in a storm, wanting to fight but needing air at the same time. Was I weak? A traitor? Or just a messed-up bastard who craves the one thing he’s supposed to hate?
How fucked up is that? I kissed the guy who might be connected to my brother's death. And Noah? He never even trusted me enough to tell me the truth. Maybe I never meant anything to either of them.
The feeling that keeps crawling under my skin is that I’m just a pawn in this filthy game, a killer who follows orders and nothing else. And that thought? It’s fucking poison. Ever since this truce was signed, nothing makes sense in my head anymore. Feels like everyone’s hiding something from me, pulling my strings—especially Carter.
What eats me alive is knowing that Noah, my brother, wasn’t who I thought he was. And I had to find out the worst way possible—through other people’s mouths—because he didn’t have the balls to tell me himself.
The smell of wet rust and rotting earth hits me first when I step down the trail and reach the rails buried by time. The muffled sound of my steps blends with the dry crackle of fallen leaves under my sneakers. The iron and brick structure rises above me—the old viaduct still standing, but taken over by moss, graffiti, and ghosts from other times. The spray-painted letters on the walls—gray, white, orange—are like scars of a city that tried to forget what it once was. This used to be the old guard’s hangout. Where the wildest parties went down, with fire blazing right on the tracks, music blasting until your bones shook, gangs running around swapping guns like trading cards, and dirty deals sealed with a handshake and a crooked glance. But ever since Midnight Echoes rolled into Boston, this place slowly died. They came like a plague—wiping out name after name, silencing the beats, choking every free space that was ours. Now, all that’s left are leaves covering the rails, the uneasy silence, and this stuck-in-your-skin feeling of abandonment. But I remember. I saw what this place once was. And part of me still feels the echo, faint between the columns, begging to come back.
I climb up to the rooftop of an old building and lean on the damp railing, eyes locked on Boston’s glass-and-steel horizon. The city breathes out there—alive and cold—with skyscrapers slicing the sky like blades. The heavy clouds can’t hide the contrast—the cold luxury ofthe towers against the rooftops marked by bold, vibrant crew tags still holding on. The concrete down here still pulses with history, with dirt, with truth. Wet rooftops, fresh graffiti mixed with old marks, every inch telling the story that someone’s still fighting to exist. Deep down, times have changed, but this view? This view still belongs to those who never gave up. And I’m here. Watching it all. Waiting for the city to sleep so I can see who still has the balls to wake the underworld.
Even though we work in silence, in the shadows, it’s not easy watching everything we built getting wiped out slow as hell, even knowing Carter and O’Connor have a plan, even if they don’t share everything with each other. This truce is a fucking mistake, and they’re gonna regret it when everything starts falling apart.
I wanna end this shit fast, put a bullet in the head of every bastard in Midnight Echoes, but unfortunately, things don’t work that way.
I sit on the railing and pull a pack of Newports from my pocket. It’s been weeks since anxiety took hold of me like never before, and smoking’s been the easiest escape—just like dealing with all the shit left hanging with the Nocturne Pact. Carter threw me out on the streets, a ruthless killer stepping out of the shadows to take down whoever deserves to die.
In these three months, I’ve only talked to Emma and Vincent, just to make sure they’re still alive, still breathing. Our relationship’s always been like that—distant, functional—even if I’m way too complicated for anyone to wanna deal with.
I hear footsteps, and the unthinkable happens when I turn around.
I see Hunter pulling himself up from the ledge on the other side of the rooftop, and my heart betrays me instantly — it starts pounding fast in my chest like it’s sensed some imminent danger. My hands sweat, and the urge to throw down on that motherfucker blinds me.
Who the fuck does he think he is, kissing me like that?
Thoughts explode all at once just seeing him there, a few feet away.
Then, he glances sideways… and by some divine miracle—or maybe something even crueler—our eyes lock. He flinches, like he didn’t know this place was a refuge for more than just him.
I shake my head, trying to shove those thoughts away. Was he following me? What the fuck is this? I don’t know. I notice him change course and start walking toward me. Eyes fixed on me, face expressionless, jaw clenched… and that tattoo on his neck staring back at me too. FERAL. Written subtle, branded on skin like a warning. Like it’s saying: watch out.
I stand up, ready to leave. Don’t want contact, don’t want to talk. I didn’t disappear for three weeks for nothing — I drowned myself in the Nocturne Pact’s business and couldn’t give less of a damn about him. I don’t want to have to put a bullet in that son of a bitch’s head, and even less listen to whatever bullshit he thinks he has to say to me.
"When did you come back?" His voice cuts me,every word like a knife scraping my skin. "It’s been three weeks and..."
I don’t let him finish.
“You don’t have to know shit about me, Hunter. The fuck you doing here?”
He looks out over the sad city below. Boston covered in heavy clouds, rainy, faded. He shoves his hands into his leather jacket like he’s trying to shield himself from whatever he’s feeling.
"I know that. But… we never talked about what happened. And I… that shouldn’t have happened. It was a mistake."
I clench my fists.
“Bout time you woke up to that.” I spit the words with venom. My heart pounds so loud it feels like it echoes between the buildings.
