The night feels too quiet.
Not calm… not peaceful… just wrong.Like the world is holding its breath, waiting for something terrible to finally uncoil.
We move through the abandoned manufacturing district like shadows the rain forgot to rinse away. Jacob walks beside me, slower than usual, and every few steps his hand drifts toward his side—as if checking whether he's still bleeding or still alive, I can't tell which.
He told me he was fine.
He lied.
But I don't call him out on it. Not now. Not when the tension coiling around us feels sharp enough to cut skin.
The storm clouds above are thick and heavy, swallowing the moon. Streetlights flicker like dying candles. Every sound echoes: our footsteps, water dripping from rusted gutters, distant machinery creaking with the cold.
I inch closer to him.
"You shouldn't be out here," I whisper.
Jacob glances down at me, his eyes darker than the street. "And let you come alone? Not happening."
"I wouldn't be alone," I mutter.
"Lily." His voice is low, steady. "I'll walk with you until my heart stops beating."
My chest tightens.
I don't know why he says things like that—things that slice through me, things he can't ever take back. Things that make me feel like he's already halfway in love with me without admitting it.
Maybe he doesn't know he says them.
Or maybe he does.
We reach the end of the alley, and Jacob pauses, his hand coming up to gently push me behind him. A silent warning.
"What is it?" I whisper, pulse racing.
"Someone's been here recently," he murmurs, crouching beside a puddle. His fingertip brushes a faint shoe print. "Not long ago."
My breath catches.
"Are they still close?"
He doesn't answer at first. He listens. Really listens. His head tilts slightly, like he's tuning into something invisible.
After a moment, he straightens.
"Not here," he says. "But they will be. Soon."
"Jacob…"
"It's fine." He says it softly, but firmly. "I won't let anything happen to you."
I want to believe him.God, I want to.
But I can see the strain in his movements now. The way he presses his lips together when pain hits him. The way his shoulders sag when he thinks I'm not looking.
He's human.
And he's breaking.
We step into the old administrative building—one of the few places left where Damian wouldn't think to look first. Dust covers the floors like frost. Old files are scattered across desks. The air is thick, still, untouched.
Jacob locks the heavy door behind us.
Then he finally lets out a breath he's been holding for hours.
I touch his arm. "Sit down."
"I'm fine."
"You're bleeding again."
He flinches.
"That obvious?" he mutters.
"Jacob, you're a walking ghost."
He smirks faintly. "A handsome ghost, though."
"Sit."
He does, mostly because his legs give out before he can argue again.
He lowers himself into the broken office chair with a rough exhale. His hair falls over his forehead, damp from rain and sweat. He looks dangerous. Exhausted. Beautiful. And too damn soft when he looks at me.
I kneel in front of him, hands trembling as I lift his shirt to check the wound.
Jacob inhales sharply—not from pain, but from my touch.It makes me blush harder than I want to admit.
"I'm not hurting you, am I?" I whisper.
"No," he says. His voice is low, rough. "You're… distracting."
I freeze.He huffs a quiet laugh.
"Keep going," he murmurs. "Please."
I clean the wound carefully, and he watches me like he's memorizing every breath, every blink, every inch of space between us.
"When this is over," I say quietly, "what will you do?"
He doesn't answer right away.
Instead, he reaches forward and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, fingers brushing my cheek.
"I haven't thought that far," he admits. "Survival doesn't leave room for dreaming."
"Then start now," I whisper. "Start with something small."
His eyes soften.
"You."
The word knocks the air right out of my lungs.
"Jacob—"
He leans back suddenly, eyes narrowing.Listening again.
"What is it?" I whisper.
He stands too quickly and sways, grabbing the edge of the desk to steady himself.
"Someone's inside," he breathes. "Downstairs."
Ice slithers up my spine.
"How many?"
He closes his eyes, counting footsteps I can't even hear.
"Three," he whispers. "Maybe four."
"What do we do?"
He looks at me, jaw tight.
"You hide."
"And you?"
He smiles—but it looks wrong, tight, defeated."Buy you time."
"No." I grab his wrist. "I'm not leaving you."
"Lily—"
"I won't."
His eyes flicker, something desperate and pained moving through them.
"You're the only good thing in my life," he whispers. "If they take you—"
"Then we fight together."
Fear flashes across his face. Real fear.Not of death.Of me being hurt.
"Please," he says, voice breaking. "Don't make me watch you die."
My breath catches.
Before I can respond—
A door slams downstairs.
Jacob's body snaps into motion. He grabs my wrist and pulls me behind a storage cabinet, pressing me gently but urgently against the wall.
His breath fans across my cheek.
"Lily," he whispers, "if something happens to me—"
"Don't."
"Listen—"
"No."
He grips my shoulders.
"Then promise me you'll run."
"Jacob—"
"Promise me."
I press my forehead to his, breathing hard. Rainwater drips from the ceiling somewhere behind us. The tension is suffocating, electric.
"I won't leave you," I whisper. "Not ever."
His breath shudders against my skin.
Then—
He leans in.
Not a kiss.Not yet.But close enough that I can feel every unspoken word trembling between us.
"Then stay behind me," he breathes. "And don't let go."
The footsteps grow louder.
Jacob reaches for my hand.I take it.
His grip is fierce.
Protective.
Terrified.
Ready.
And together—
We face the darkness as it finally finds us.