Nyra Seraph's POV
The rain fell in sheets. Not drops—sheets. Like the sky wanted to erase everything. My shoulders curled against it, but I didn't flinch. Just kept walking. One foot, then the next. My coat stuck to me, heavy, like old guilt. It dragged along my arms and back, as if it knew too much.
Behind me, the glass doors of the office clicked shut. That sound—metal and vacuum seal—made something inside me cinch tight. Closed in. It was cut off. No goodbyes. No voices. It was just me, the wet street, and the ache behind my eyes.
The city didn't look like mine anymore. Even the rain sounded like it was watching me.
The alley swallowed me, with brick walls that rose like gravestones on either side. My boots slapped the puddles, slow and exhausted. I took my time.
Then I heard something. A footstep.
My breath held itself.
Who the hell would be out here?
Nobody walks down this alley. Not at this hour. No, not in this rain.
Yet another step. Close. Heavy. Measured.
I made a sharp turn into another alleyway. Narrower. Dimmer. I didn't think—I reacted. Perhaps I could circle back and lose them? I was familiar with this part of the city. I thought I did.
Then—quiet. The footsteps stopped.
A relieved sigh. False.
I turned, my breath trembling out of my lungs as I attempted to find my way back.
Then I saw him.
Ezra. He stood half in shadow, face soaked, hair flat against his skull, as if he had just stepped out of the ocean. But it was not the rain that made him appear lifeless. It was something different. Hollow eyes. Stillness. His hands hung at his sides, fingers loose, twitching like something inside him wanted out.
Ezra.
My Ezra.
Except—not. I took a step backward.
He did not even blink.
Something was wrong with the air between us. It crackled. Like a frayed wire that is sparking.
He opened his mouth, his voice sounding like ice scraping against metal.
"Do not run. Stay right where you are."
I shuddered. That did not sound like him. It was, but not really.
I could not place it; was it rage? Grief? Or is there something inhuman leaking through?
The light behind me started to flicker—buzz, flash, and black. Buzz, flash, black. My shadow jerked against the walls, as if it wanted to get away from me.
My leg moved first.
I ran.
Rain slapped my cheeks, arms, and throat. My lungs burned. Ezra's footsteps followed, faster than I remembered him moving. The sound of boots hitting pavement was like a heartbeat that I could not escape.
I was trying to get away from someone I cared about. Someone I once shared a bed with. With whom I shared secrets. Shared with me.
There was a time he made me laugh until I snorted. Brought me coffee with too much sugar. Called me "Starfire" when no one else looked twice. That version of him passed away quietly, I believe. Right under my nose.
I could no longer look him in the eyes without seeing something hungry in return.
And I heard him calling after me, his voice slithering through the darkness.
"Did you forget about me again? But I have not forgotten about you. I will be back."
Then—nothing. His footsteps stopped.
I did not look back, though.
I simply couldn't.
The question circled around like a vulture: Is he still following? Or just waiting?
My legs slowed. I collapsed against the brick for a brief second. My knees trembled. My fingers cramped from clenching for too long. I kept seeing his eyes when I blinked—blank, as if he did not notice me. As if I were already dead. My chest heaved. I could not breathe properly. Could not see properly. My entire body screamed.
The fear was not silent. It was not clean. It was visible on my skin with each twitch of my fingers.
Ezra. He had previously made threats. He threatened me with death if I left. I had not taken him seriously. Not quite.
I believed him at this point.
The rain didn't stop. It was biblical now. Endless. It was as if the sky was grieving for me.
I was not sure where I was. The alleys blended into each other. There are no street signs. No landmarks. Just water, brick, and shadow.
Then—a light.
A red neon sign. Flickering. Buzzing. A bar. Half-drowned in shadow.
I didn't want to go in. But I didn't want to be alone. That has always been the problem.
I reached for the door, my fingers trembling. With a moan, as if awakening, it opened.
Inside, The warmth struck my skin like steam rising from broken glass. I could feel the blood returning to my fingers. The bar, It smelled of wet leather, old whiskey, and something slightly sweet—perfume worn by decay. smoke from cigarettes. Muted laughter. Behind the bar, a TV is humming. Everything seemed to be moving too slowly. It was as if the world knew where I had just come from and wanted to cradle me in delay.
I walked to the counter. Dropped soaked bills from my pocket.
The bartender raised his eyebrow. Middle-aged with a scrub-like beard and sharp but not unkind eyes.
"You look like you are trying to disappear," he said, smiling crookedly.
I did not respond. Couldn't.
He handed me a beer anyway.
That was when I felt it.
The atmosphere became thick. Not like fear—like gravity. Like something was leaning in from the shadows, waiting to be noticed. I could feel it in my teeth, in my pulse, and in the sudden silence on the television, as if it had forgotten how to hum.
I did not turn right away. Whatever was watching me remained motionless. But I swear the bar did—just slightly. The shadows seemed to make room for him.
Somewhere to the left. In the dark corner next to the jukebox.
Then a voice, smooth as whiskey:
"You do not look like you belong here."
It was not a threat. It was not exactly a welcome either.
The air shifted. Heavy, not with smoke, but with attention. With one breath in, something inside me stiffened.
I made a slow turn.
A man leaned back in the booth, almost part of the shadows. Long coat. Hands folded. Face unreadable.
And something inside me stirred. Not fear. This is not comfort.
There is something else.
Something I could not identify but also could not ignore. It felt like recognition. Whatever he was, he had been waiting for me.