Dagger's POV
New York never slept, but tonight it felt like it was holding its breath.
Sirens blared several blocks behind me. Police lights painted the wet streets blue and red as cruisers carved through traffic, searching for me like hounds chasing the scent of blood.
I ducked down an alley, ignoring the smell of the nearby trash that was strong enough to make it through my mask. Not taking any chances, my mask scanned the surroundings and I could sense no drones overhead, no officers closing in.
I slipped into the first open door I found. A bar.
Dim, crowded, loud. Laughter clung to the air along with stale beer and cheap perfume. Neon lights buzzed above the counter, reflecting off bottles that had seen better years.
And there, at the far end of the bar, Nyx.
Her gown from the party was torn at the shoulder and stained with smoke, but she still held herself like a queen displaced, not dethroned. She cradled a glass of something clear, her mask lopsided, her expression cold and sharp as glass.
She didn't look up when I sat beside her.
"I pride myself on not being able to be found when I don't want to. Somehow, you've found me. Here, in my shame of failure. I saw what was happening. I know he's escaped. It'll take a miracle for us to find what hole he'll hide in."
I didn't respond only because I didn't know how to. I wasn't looking for her, just a place to lay low until either they found me or the morning when this all blew over. Seeing I was an ally, or at the very least, not there to case trouble, the bartender approached.
"What'll it be?" the man asked.
"Nothing," I said. "I'm too young to drink."
The bar went silent for half a beat. Then the laughter hit. A few patrons turned our way.
"Too young?"
"What is he, serious?"
"He works for Talon and that's the law he cares about?"
I ignored them. Nyx turned her head slightly, one eyebrow raised in disbelief, as if she couldn't decide whether to laugh or sigh.
"Eighteen." I told her.
She exhaled through her nose. "I swear Talon is recruiting children now…"
I slid a burner phone across the counter toward her.
"Maybe, but at least I get the job done," I said.
She picked it up lazily, then froze. A blinking dot pulsed on the screen as it moved across the screen. One ping, steady and constant.
Her eyes widened.
"…You didn't," she whispered.
"I did," I answered.
"You put a tracker on him?" she breathed, voice lifting with a mixture of shock and thrill.
"When I grabbed him during the crash," I said. "Jacket seam."
Nyx's lips parted, slowly twisting upward into a grin that was equal parts wicked, relieved, and impressed.
"You beautiful, brilliant little monster," she whispered.
She stood so quickly her barstool slammed into the wall behind her.
"Dagger," she snapped, "follow."
There was no hesitation in her voice. None was needed.
I followed her out of the bar, ignoring the bartender's bewildered stare and the laughter fading behind us. She led me through a side street, up a flight of metal stairs, and into the boutique hotel we'd chosen as cover.
Her footsteps were quick, purpose-driven, energized by the sudden advantage. But once the hotel room door closed behind us, she changed.
Nyx leaned against the door and let out a long, breathy laugh.
"I should have known," she said. "You're the kind of man who prepares even when bleeding out."
I didn't respond. I was worried about the response I would get.
She turned to me, eyes glittering.
"You know," she murmured, "I can only imagine how handsome you must be under that mask."
I stayed still. Oh yeah, I was in trouble.
Nyx's smile deepened, sharp enough to cut.
"Oh, don't worry," she said softly. "I know exactly what you look like." She tapped her temple.
"Information, remember? Your mask is useless to me."
She stepped closer, close enough that her perfume drifted across my senses—clean, cold, not enough to cover the alcohol in her breath. Vodka.
I didn't move. She laughed under her breath.
"You really won't take it off? Not even now?"
"No."
Her smile turned playful… dangerous.
"Well," she said, unfastening the clasp at her shoulder, "maybe if I take enough off…"
She let the torn strap fall.
"…you'll start to."
I didn't answer.
She stepped even closer, her bare skin brushing against my legs. Her hand slid to my wrist, not pulling, but inviting.
"Dagger," she whispered. "Come here."
Her fingers curled lightly around mine and then she guided me backward, toward the bed.
The room dimmed as the city lights filtered through the curtains, casting shadows across her exposed shoulders, her wicked smile, her eyes burning with the high of a hunt resumed.
Nyx's lips brushed close to my ear.
"Don't pretend you don't want to," she murmured.
I didn't.
She pulled me down with her and the mattress creaked under our weight.
Her laughter rose soft in the dark as her hands crept around my coat collar, slipping it off.
And the world slipped into shadows.