Episode 12
Tracy's POV
"Why'd you run away from me?" Zane asked, dusting off his palms as he dragged Brian's unconscious body toward the wall. He didn't look at me once.
"I should ask you the same thing," I muttered.
"What are you going to do with him?" I asked, watching as he casually searched Brian's jacket like this was just another Tuesday night.
He didn't look up. "People die every day, Trace."
Trace? Did he just nickname me?
Before I could process how I felt about that, he continued, "I have to say, I admire your defense skills. You're not some damsel in distress. I like that."
Still not looking at me.
Zane reached into Brian's inner pocket, pulling out receipts, wrappers, and a small folded piece of paper.
"Why would I go with you?" I snapped. "I don't even know you. You look shady as hell, and honestly, I don't want anything to do with you." I turned away.
"Oh," he said quietly, still rifling through Brian's things. "But you make out with any handsome guy who saves you in an alley?"
I turned, mouth open to lash out—
—but then he pulled out the paper.
He unfolded it slowly, scanned it, and smirked like he'd been expecting whatever it was.
"What is that?" I asked, walking over. I yanked the paper from his hand.
My heart dropped.
My name.
A rough sketch of my face.
The exact street I was walking on.
Time: 9:37 PM.
Everything.
I felt my knees give out as I fell to the pavement, still holding the paper, still staring like if I blinked, it would vanish.
"This isn't just someone following me," I whispered. "This is... precision."
Zane stepped beside me. "We can't do this here. People might start coming out any minute. Let's go somewhere else. Talk."
I looked up at him, eyes brimming. "Zane… what's happening? How could someone get this much information? I mean, yeah, people can pull my pictures from social media—names, even a rough location. But this?"
I held the paper out again.
"This is the exact route I took. The exact time I left. That's personal. Only someone close to me could've known this…"
I stopped. My chest tightened. My thoughts spiraled.
Am I that much of a threat? Who could've given this away? April? Someone else?
Zane crouched beside me and extended his hand.
"Take my hand, Trace."
"I can't trust anybody right now," I said, tears slipping down my cheeks.
"And that's exactly why you should take it."
"No. Please," I whispered, backing away slightly. "I don't even know who you really are. Get away from me."
He didn't move. "I don't trust anyone either."
He stared at me intensely. "Take my hand, or I'm picking you up."
I looked into his face, really looked. He wasn't just attractive—he was striking. Defined jawline, eyes so dark they could swallow stars, and lips that looked like they knew too many secrets.
In that second, my mind betrayed me.
I imagined it. Him, bending down like Prince Eric picking up Cinderella after she lost her glass slipper. Only instead of a ballroom, it was a dark Chicago alley, and instead of a gown, I was wearing joggers with a ripped hoodie and a bleeding lip.
But the fantasy still hit.
I could see the kiss. The closeness. The warmth.
I blinked and realized...
I was puckering my lips slightly.
Toward his hand.
"Oh my God," I whispered, horrified.
Zane raised an eyebrow. His lips twitched.
He saw it.
He absolutely saw it.
He was trying not to smile.
Before I could die of embarrassment, he grabbed me under the arms and lifted me to my feet like I weighed nothing.
"I didn't give you permission to do that!" I shouted.
"But you already deflowered me in your daydreams," he said, voice cool, layered with sarcasm.
"Oh my goodness!" I covered my face, burning inside.
He finally smiled.
"Come on, Cinderella," he said. "Let's get you somewhere safe before midnight hits again."
We left Brian behind, tied up and unconscious, and walked a few blocks down into the darker side of the city. I followed him in silence, thinking, overthinking. My shoes scraped against the pavement, and my thoughts scraped against every terrible possibility.
"Where are we going?" I asked eventually.
"Somewhere quiet," he replied. "You need to sit down, drink something, and freak out in peace."
That sounded... accurate.
Ten minutes later, we stepped into what looked like an abandoned bookstore. The windows were covered, the shelves mostly empty, but a single bulb flickered above a small couch and dusty desk.
"This is your safe house?" I asked, blinking.
"It's not much," he said, locking the door behind us. "But it'll do for now."
I sat slowly on the couch. It creaked.
Zane pulled a bottle of water from a mini-fridge and tossed it to me.
"You have a fridge?"
He smirked. "I'm not a caveman."
I took a long drink, then finally asked, "Who's behind this? Who wants me gone?"
Zane's expression darkened. He looked at me like he wanted to lie, but couldn't.
"People who knew your mother," he said. "And people who think you're next in line for something they don't want you to have."
"What does that even mean?"
He didn't answer. Not directly.
"Trace… you're not just some girl who had a rough past. You were part of something bigger. And now that you've run... they think you're a threat."
A cold shiver ran down my spine.
"Am I?"
He looked me straight in the eyes.
"You're the biggest threat they've ever seen."
And just like that… everything inside me flipped.
but I had to get over my curiosity
..zane? is this your house?
come on he said
I just needed to know
it's just some old place I know he said
ohhh okay back to what's happening with me
you know sometimes I think your a bit too unconcerned for your good zane said
I really don't know what's going on but I guess you have those answers....
I'm really scared I admitted for the first time