Chapter 1
AVERY –
“Avery, get your ass moving!”
Eli’s voice cuts through my bedroom door, sharp and impatient. I stand frozen in front of the full-length mirror, critically examining my reflection. Dark-wash jeans, a slightly faded flannel button-down rolled to the elbows, and my most dependable pair of boots. It’s my standard uniform, but tonight, it feels all wrong.
My wavy brown hair is losing its fight against gravity and humidity, and my glasses keep slipping down my nose, as if even they’re trying to escape this ill-conceived plan.
“I look ridiculous,” I mutter more to myself.
“You look fine!” he shouts back. “And the longer you stall, the less time we have to blend in before they realize we’re faking it.”
“We are faking it,” I call out.
“Exactly. That’s the fun part.”
He appears in the doorway, leaning against the frame like he’s been waiting for his cue. Eli’s black hair is styled with that kind of careless precision only gay men and movie stars truly master. He’s wearing a fitted black shirt and jeans that look like they were tailored on him. He looks like he belongs at a place like Club Lilith. I look like someone who’d be there to fix the plumbing.
“I don’t need this kind of adventure,” I say, turning back to my hopeless reflection.
“Bullshit. Your idea of a wild night is switching from chamomile to peppermint tea.” He grins. “Your cat has a more exciting life than you do. And she licks her own ass.”
I try not to laugh, but it comes out anyway. He’s always been able to dismantle my anxiety with one well-aimed jab.
“Fine. But it’s my birthday. Shouldn’t I get to choose my own bad decisions?”I say finally, grabbing my coat.
“Sweetheart, you’ve been choosing safe decisions for twenty-four years. That’s the problem.” He loops his arm through mine, his grin infectious. “So no, tonight I make the bad calls for once.”
Outside, the city breathes. The air is cool and sharp, and the streets feel electric. Music thrums from somewhere up ahead, weaving through the sounds of traffic and scattered voices. Neon bleeds color onto the wet pavement, and I can’t tell if the night is always this vivid or if it’s just my nerves, humming right under my skin.
“Club Lilith isn’t even a real place,” I say as we walk. “Isn’t it, like, a myth? Invite-only?”
“It’s real,” Eli says, his tone easy. “And yes, it’s invite-only. Lucky for you, I know a guy who knows a guy whose boyfriend tends bar there. We’re guests of a guest. If we play it cool, they might not even check.”
“And if they do?”
“Then we go home, drink boxed wine, and pretend this never happened.”
The knot in my stomach doesn’t loosen. I’ve heard the stories–Lilith isn’t just private. It’s hidden. No cameras. No rules. No second chances if you mess up.
Eli slows his pace and leans in, his voice dropping. “Relax. Tonight, you’re not Avery from accounting. Tonight, you can be anyone.”
Maybe that was the entire point. My life was a study in quiet predictability. A rent-controlled apartment, a decent but unremarkable job, a cat who viewed me as her personal servant. In all my twenty-four years, this was, without a doubt, the most reckless thing I had ever voluntarily done.
I nod, pulling in a breath as we step deeper into the glowing pulse of the city.
And even though I’m not the kind of person who believes in signs, and I’m certainly not prone to drama, I felt it – a quiet, unshakable certainty deep in my gut that something was about to change.
***
VICTORIA –
He doesn’t know he’s already dead. Men like Delaney never do. They mistake the pounding in their chest for control, convincing themselves that as long as they keep moving, they still have a chance. It’s almost sad in a way–
how they cling to that last bit of hope when everyone else in the room already knows how the night will end.
Rain coats the streets, pooling in shallow dips in the pavement, each one catching the light from passing cars and store signs. Reds from the liquor store across the street bleed into the hard white glow of the pharmacy sign, turning the wet asphalt into a patchwork of smeared reflections.
He’s running hard, splashing through every puddle without caring about the noise. His breathing comes in ragged gasps that I can hear even from twenty feet back. He isn’t running toward anything specific - just away from me, from the steady, quiet sound of my footsteps behind him.
I don’t run. I never do. Running is for people who are trying to survive, and I don’t belong in that category.
The Beretta in my hand is warm from my grip, its weight comfortable and steady, an extension of my arm by now. The suppressor shifts the balance slightly, but I’ve long since adapted to it. I don’t make noise when I work unless there’s a reason for it, and there’s no reason tonight.
Up ahead, he throws himself at a half-collapsed warehouse door, the corroded metal frame protesting in a drawn-out screech that carries down the block. The sound tells me exactly how little thought he’s giving this escape – he’s not thinking about noise, or the way sound moves in an empty space, or even the possibility that the door might not give. He’s thinking about getting inside, about hiding, about the false comfort of walls.
I don’t hurry. My steps are slow, deliberate, my breathing steady. Every movement is controlled, and in that control there’s an ease I’ve learned to trust. Rushing is for the desperate.
Inside, the air changes instantly. It’s heavy with damp and rot, the mildew seeping into the walls, the tang of rust settling over everything. Underneath it all, I catch something familiar – the faint metallic scent of blood that’s been left to settle into the concrete, long enough that it’s almost forgotten. My shoes make no sound against the uneven floorboards, and they wouldn’t even if I wanted them to. I’ve been here before. I know there’s only one exit worth taking, and he hasn’t found it.
His breathing gives him away. It’s quick, shallow, and coming from the far left, behind a wall of stacked crates. He’s trying to be still, to quiet himself, but adrenaline always pushes people past their limits. They think stillness is just a matter of not moving. It isn’t.
I stop in the center of the room and let my voice travel. “Mr. Delaney,” I say, my tone smooth and even, pitched just loud enough to reach him without bouncing off the walls. “You always liked control. But you’ve lost it now, haven’t you?”
There’s a short, sharp inhale. The sound of him shifting against the wood.
“You don’t understand–” he starts, his voice low but shaky.
I tilt my head slightly toward the sound, letting him hear the movement. “I understand plenty. You bought silence. Paid off two detectives, a prosecutor, and a defense attorney who pretends to sleep at night. That kept you free.” I take two unhurried steps forward. “But it didn’t make you clean.”
Silence stretches out between us, and for a moment I wonder if he’s going to try staying quiet until I leave. But then it breaks – his fear turns to anger, the last resort of a cornered man.
“She lied!” His voice rises, cracks. “That little bitch–”
I take one final step, closing the distance until I am standing directly before him. I raise the gun, my voice still calm, still steady.
“That’s a shame. You could’ve gone quiet.”
The trigger moves under my finger with almost no resistance, and the sound that follows is barely more than a breath. He drops instantly, folding in on himself without ceremony.
I step over to his still form, crouching to go through his coat, where I pull out a phone, wallet and a flash drive, encrypted. I slip it into my pocket without even looking at it; the phone will be more useful, and it will have names. They always do. Men like him move in groups, and groups are easier to dismantle once you know how they’re connected.
Outside, the city is still moving, still pretending it’s alive when it’s been rotting under its own weight for years. But in here, something shifts – the kind of change you can’t name but feel all the same. The feeling vanishes the instant my phone vibrates. The screen glows with the news of a full club, calling me to a different hunt, for a different kind of prey.
I turn and walk out, the sound of my heels sharp for the first two steps before the rain muffles them. By the time I’m gone, there’s nothing left here except a body cooling on the floor and the silence I was hired to bring.
