Lena Maris had always believed that life gave warnings before it changed.
It's left her without feelings, strange as that may seem. And of course, without nights.
It began in a most unremarkable way. People dressed in the most current fashions bustled through the streets as cars poured through roads slick from the previous night's rain. Bright neon lights coated everything in an artificial glow and drunken chatter poured out from bars and clubs, but life in the city was never truly normal. And nothing was about to change that—at least, that's what Lena tried to tell herself as she briskly walked down the slick streets, her stilettos echoing off the walls. She gripped tightly at her black purse and wrote a hasty message on her phone to her friend Maya.
I'm almost home. Remind me never to—
The loud crack startled her, but it wasn't thunder. It sounded too deliberate and too close. Lena stood rigid.
There was another crack, another explosion, and another shot echoing off the buildings.
There was no screaming at first. Then there was a brief moment of denial before things fell apart.
Lena stumbled backwards to avoid tripping over a pair of legs which darted in the opposite direction without a second glance. She heard feet pounding the pavement and voices ringing out in sudden alarm.
Lena should have run too.
She didn't.
Because that's when she saw him.
Piper appeared at the far end of the alley, rushing as fast as he could but not nearly fast enough for the danger hot on his heels. His expensive two-piece suit seemed to only accentuate the smudge of blood on his arm, and for some reason it looked utterly unnatural—Piper was not a man who should be sporting bloodstains, he looked like he belonged in sterile offices sipping low-profile power lunches in lobby bars.
He could see their silhouettes moving behind him, and they looked to be men, armed with guns and appear to have no qualms about shooting
Lena gasped for air. This wasn't her world. This wasn't even close.
He turned to face her then, and though she looked for fear and panic on his face, what she saw was a cold calculation.
And somehow, that made it worse.
But if someone as calculated as he was couldn't manage to control what happened next - then no one could.
Another shot rang out.
Too close.
Lena moved.
She couldn't remember making the decision to jump. Later, she would try to make sense of what had prompted her to leap from the car, probably attributing it to some combination of instinct and adrenaline, possibly foolish bravery.
She stepped into his path.
"Hey!" she shouted, louder than she thought she could.
He spun to face her, his eyes sharp and dangerous and unexpectedly alive.
"Wear the wrong direction," he said quickly, trying to push me in a running position. "Run," he added in a low and worried voice.
"Not without you."
She blurted them out.
For a moment, something like surprise, or maybe even disbelief, flickered across his features.
There was no time to figure it out.
Lena grabbed his wrist.
He looked so solid, so real, in the dim light of the laneway. Warm despite the chill and the obvious pressures bearing down on him. When she suddenly grabbed hold of him he tensed but then remained still.
"Move," she said rapidly, pulling him after her as she scanned the corridors in a desperate search for a place to hide. She darted between two larger doors and seized his arm, propelling him through a tiny side passage that he never would have noticed otherwise.
It was a tiny place, pretty much in a basement, and very dark. The type of establishment you would not usually care to patronize unless absolutely necessary.
Perfect. She didn't let go.
They walked faster, not going far, but the urgency of their footsteps grew. They went from looking over their shoulders as they hurried through crowded streets filled with flashing neon lights and noise, to having to pick their way through darkened alleys lit only by scattered slivers of light that leaked between cracked shutters and the low murmur of danger. The cacophony of the city gave way to a tense, oppressive silence.
She stopped only after they had gone a considerable distance.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Lena's heart seemed to be pounding itself into bruised jelly. She slowly unwrapped her fingers from his wrist, wondering, without really noticing it, how she'd managed to grab hold in the first place. "That was—" she said, but the best word for it was missing.
He stood up straight, and tried to ignore the bloody tear in his sleeve.
"You shouldn't have done that," he said.
His voice wasn't angry.
That would have been easier to deal with.
It was… certain.
Lena couldn't help but release a breath of amusement. "You were going to get shot."
"I was handling it."
She blinked at him. " Handling it?"
For a brief moment, a expression of annoyance or something more flashed across his face. "You shouldn't have gotten involved.
"And you're alive," she shot back.
The silence that followed seemed to take on a life of its own, growing closer, tighter, more charged with every passing second.
He looked at her properly then.
Not a glance. Not a quick assessment.
A study.
I couldn't tell if he was trying to remember where I came from and was having trouble.
Lena tried to ignore the way he was staring at her and didn't move. "What?
"Nothing," he said, but it didn't sound like nothing.
It started somewhere outside, with the sound of sirens rising above the city's din. Distant at first, the wail grew louder, until it became impossible to ignore how close they actually were.
Reality was catching up.
"Ah, I should go," Lena said, turning to flee, surprised that her voice shook less than she had anticipated. "And so should you, before whatever it was that followed you here finds you again."