Alex leaned against the wall of his cramped apartment, staring out the grimy window at the street below. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the pavement, but his attention wasn't on the light—it was on the figure he'd glimpsed earlier that day, a man in a dark coat lingering near the school gates. Another one. The organization wasn't subtle anymore; they were tightening the noose, and Alex could feel it. Tomorrow was the Fall Dance, an event he'd dismissed as trivial until now. But skipping it wasn't an option. If they were watching him, the dance was where they'd expect him to hide—or slip up. He had to go, had to see what they were planning. Staying home meant ceding control, and he'd fought too hard to let that happen.
The problem was, he couldn't go alone. A lone figure at a high school dance stood out like a flare in the dark, and blending in was his only shield. He needed a date, someone who wouldn't ask too many questions but could hold their own if things went south. His options were slim. Tim was a loose cannon, Ethan too wrapped up in his own head. That left Mia—smart, steady Mia, who'd already caught glimpses of the cracks in his facade. Asking her meant dragging her closer to the mess he was running from, but he had no choice. She was his cover, his way in. He'd keep her safe, he told himself, even as the lie tasted bitter.
The next day dragged on, each class a blur of noise and faces Alex barely registered. He found Mia after lunch, leaning against her locker with a book in hand, her dark hair falling across her face. She didn't notice him at first, lost in the pages, and he almost backed off. But time was running out.
"Mia," he said, his voice cutting through the hallway chatter.
She looked up, blinking. "Alex. You okay? You look like you haven't slept."
He shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Fine. Just… thinking about the dance tonight."
Her eyebrows rose. "You're going? That's a surprise."
"Yeah, well, I figured I should. You know, act normal for once." He paused, the words heavy on his tongue. "You free to come with me?"
She closed her book, studying him with those sharp eyes of hers. "You're asking me to the dance?"
"As friends," he said quickly. "I just don't want to show up solo."
A faint smile curved her lips, though her gaze lingered, searching. "Alright. I'll go. But you owe me if it's boring."
"Deal," he said, relief loosening the knot in his chest. She didn't press, didn't dig, and for that he was grateful.
The gym was a riot of color and sound when they arrived that night. Orange and gold streamers looped across the ceiling, catching the glow of spinning lights. The air buzzed with laughter, music, and the shuffle of feet on the polished floor. Alex felt out of place in his borrowed suit, the tie a chokehold around his neck. Beside him, Mia wore a simple black dress, her calm presence a counterpoint to the chaos. She glanced around, then at him, smirking.
"You look miserable," she said.
"I am," he muttered, scanning the crowd. No coats yet, just a sea of teenagers in cheap tuxes and glittering dresses.
"Come on," she said, tugging his sleeve. "Let's at least pretend we're here to have fun."
They moved into the throng, the music shifting to a slower tempo. Couples paired off, and Mia raised an eyebrow. "Dance?"
He nodded, more to keep moving than anything else. Her hand settled on his shoulder, his on her waist, and they swayed, out of step at first but finding a rhythm. She smelled faintly of lavender, and for a moment, he let himself forget—forget the note he'd found yesterday, forget the eyes he knew were out there. Mia's voice broke the spell.
"You're not bad at this," she teased.
"Don't sound so shocked," he replied, and she laughed, soft and real.
The normalcy lasted exactly six minutes. His eyes swept the room again, a habit he couldn't shake, and there—near the punch table, half-hidden by a knot of students—was a man in a dark coat. The same stiff posture, the same air of menace. Another tail from the organization, bold enough to step into the light. Alex's pulse spiked, his grip on Mia tightening.
"Alex?" she said, frowning. "What's—"
"I need to check something," he cut in, stepping back. "Stay here. I'll be quick."
Her mouth opened to argue, but he was already moving, weaving through the crowd toward the man. The figure slipped toward the side exit, and Alex followed, his dress shoes loud against the floor. He hit the double doors and burst into the night, the cold air a shock after the gym's heat.
The parking lot stretched out, dimly lit by flickering lamps. The man was ahead, striding toward the shadows beyond the cars. "Hey!" Alex shouted, breaking into a run. The man didn't look back, just ducked between two sedans and vanished. Alex sprinted after him, rounding the corner to see the man dart into an alley behind the school.
The alley was a narrow trap—brick walls, rusted dumpsters, a chain-link fence at the far end. The man's coat flared as he ran, and Alex poured on speed, his breath sharp in his lungs. He caught up halfway down, lunging to grab the man's arm. The figure whirled, a fist flying toward Alex's face. He ducked, the blow whistling past, and slammed his shoulder into the man's chest, driving him back.
The man recovered fast, a knife flashing in his hand as he lunged. Alex twisted aside, the blade slicing air, and grabbed the man's wrist, wrenching it down. The knife hit the pavement with a clatter, but the man swung his other arm, catching Alex in the jaw. Pain flared, hot and bright, and Alex staggered, tasting blood.
"You're in over your head, kid," the man snarled, his voice rough as gravel.
"Who are you?" Alex demanded, blocking a kick and driving his elbow into the man's ribs. The man grunted, doubling over, but lashed out again, shoving Alex against the wall. The impact rattled his teeth, but he hooked his leg behind the man's knee, yanking him down.
They hit the ground hard, rolling in a tangle of limbs. The man scrambled for the knife, fingers brushing the hilt, but Alex pinned his arm, slamming it against the concrete. "Talk," he hissed, pressing his weight into the hold.
The man bared his teeth. "You're a dead man walking."
Alex twisted the arm harder, feeling the resistance, the strain—and then a wet snap as the bone gave way. The man screamed, a raw, animal sound, and Alex drove his fist into the man's temple. Once. Twice. The third hit sent the man limp, his head lolling to the side, unconscious.
Breathing hard, Alex rocked back, adrenaline surging through him. Blood dripped from his split lip, staining his shirt, and his hands trembled as he flexed them. The man lay sprawled, arm bent at a sickening angle, the knife glinting a few feet away. Alex's mind raced—the organization, the threat, the mess he'd just made. He needed to move, needed to—
A sharp intake of breath stopped him cold. He turned, and there was Mia, standing at the alley's entrance, her face a mask of horror. Her dress was smudged with dirt, her hair wild from running, and her eyes locked on the scene: the broken man, the blood, Alex rising from the carnage.
She'd followed him. Too slow to catch up during the chase, but fast enough to track him here. She'd seen it—the fight, the arm snapping, the final blow. All of it.
"Alex," she said, her voice barely a whisper, shaking with disbelief. "What… what did you just do?"
He took a step toward her, hands raised, but she flinched, her feet scuffing the ground. "Mia, wait—"
"You broke his arm," she said, louder now, her gaze darting to the man, then back to him. "You knocked him out. How—why—"
"He was dangerous," Alex said, the words tumbling out. "He came after me. I had to—"
"Stop," she snapped, her voice cutting through the night. She hugged her arms to her chest, eyes wide and searching. "This isn't… you're not… What are you, Alex?"
He opened his mouth, but nothing came. The truth was a weight he couldn't unload, not here, not now. She took a step closer, her breath hitching, her expression a storm of fear and confusion.
"Tell me what's going on," she said, her voice trembling but firm. "Right now."
He stared at her, the distance between them a chasm he couldn't cross. The dance was a memory, the normalcy shattered. She'd seen him—really seen him—and there was no going back.