The streets of Blackstone were a labyrinth of flickering lights and shadowed corners, where silence held its breath and danger lingered just out of sight. Evelyn Hartwell adjusted the strap of her bag, her mismatched eyes scanning the empty sidewalk.
She wasn’t scared—she’d long since learned that fear only made her a target—but she was cautious. Blackstone wasn’t a city for the faint-hearted, especially not for someone like her.
Her red hair, pulled into a loose braid, gleamed under the dim streetlights, and her pale skin seemed to glow against the darkness. It wasn’t vanity that made her cover up; it was survival. People stared too long at her, whispered too often about her odd features—the green and blue of her eyes, the way she seemed to stand out no matter how hard she tried to blend in.
“Eve,” a voice called from behind.
She turned sharply, her heart jumping before recognition set in. Lucian Graves jogged toward her, his breath misting in the cold night air.
He was infuriatingly perfect, with his golden hair, sharp jawline, and a smile that could charm anyone. Even now, in his worn leather jacket and faded jeans, he looked like he’d stepped out of a magazine.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, trying to sound annoyed.
Lucian shrugged, falling into step beside her. “I was in the neighborhood.”
“Liar.”
He grinned, unbothered. “Fine. I figured you’d take this shortcut again, and I don’t like the idea of you walking home alone. You know this part of town isn’t safe.”
Eve sighed, pulling her coat tighter. “I’ve been walking this route for years. I’m fine, Lucian.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t trust the people around here.” His tone turned serious, his easy smile fading.
Eve didn’t argue. She knew Lucian meant well, even if his protective streak could be stifling. He’d been her friend for years, the one constant in her otherwise solitary life. But his concern sometimes felt misplaced, as if he saw her as fragile—a delicate flower in need of shielding.
They walked in silence for a while, the sound of their footsteps echoing against the brick walls.
“Eve,” Lucian started, his voice hesitant. “I—”
A low, guttural sound interrupted him.
Both of them froze. Eve’s pulse quickened as the sound grew louder—a heavy, uneven tread, accompanied by a metallic scrape.
Lucian stepped in front of her, his hand moving to the knife hidden in his jacket. “Stay behind me.”
Eve’s instincts screamed at her to run, but her legs refused to move. She watched as a figure emerged from the darkness, his silhouette impossibly tall and broad.
The man stepped into the dim light, and Eve felt her breath catch.
He wasn’t handsome—not by any conventional standard. His face was a map of scars, one running jaggedly from his temple to his jaw. His nose looked like it had been broken more than once, and his lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile.
But his eyes… They were piercing, cold steel, locking onto her with an intensity that made her shiver.
“Move along,” Lucian said, his voice steady but low. “We don’t want trouble.”
The man didn’t respond. His gaze never left Eve, as if Lucian weren’t even there.
“Who are you?” Lucian demanded, his grip tightening on his knife.
The man tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “Someone you don’t want to cross.” His voice was rough, like gravel underfoot, and it sent a chill down Eve’s spine.
Lucian shifted, his body tense. “Then leave.”
The man’s lips twitched, amusement flickering in his eyes. “I don’t take orders from boys.”
Before Lucian could react, the man stepped closer, his attention still fixed on Eve. “You’re not like them,” he said, his tone softer, almost contemplative. “You stand out.”
Eve’s throat tightened, but she forced herself to speak. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
A ghost of a smile crossed his face. “You will.”
Then, just as suddenly as he’d appeared, he turned and walked away, his shadow stretching long behind him.
Lucian exhaled sharply, his hand dropping from his knife. “Who the hell was that?”
Eve didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her mind was racing, replaying the encounter over and over.
For the first time in years, she felt truly seen—not by someone admiring her, but by someone who looked deeper, who saw past her carefully constructed walls.
She hated it.
And yet, as she and Lucian continued their walk, she couldn’t shake the feeling that her life had just shifted, the axis tilting ever so slightly.
Eve was still reeling from the encounter when she finally made it home. Lucian had walked her to her building, his protective instincts on overdrive, but she’d managed to convince him to leave with promises that she’d call if anything seemed off.
Now, as she closed the door to her small apartment, the events of the night replayed in her mind. The man’s scars, his cryptic words, the unsettling way he’d looked at her—it all felt like a scene from someone else’s life.
She kicked off her shoes and headed for the kitchen, craving the comfort of tea. The kettle was just beginning to whistle when a sharp knock at the door made her jump.
Her heart raced as she approached, every nerve on edge. “Lucian?” she called, though she doubted it was him.
When no one answered, she cautiously opened the door. The hallway was empty, save for a single black rose lying on the welcome mat.
Eve stared at it, her breath catching in her throat. The petals were dark and velvety, glistening faintly as if they’d been freshly picked.
She bent down to pick it up, her fingers trembling. As she straightened, she noticed a small slip of paper tucked beneath the stem.
You don’t know me yet, but you will.
Her stomach churned, a mix of fear and something she couldn’t quite name. Slamming the door shut, she locked it and leaned against the wood, clutching the rose like it might explode.
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