The next morning, Chicago looked deceptively normal.
But for Lyra Hart, normal had become an illusion.
She hadn't slept. Every sound outside her window — a car door, footsteps on wet pavement, the wind rattling the fire escape — made her flinch. Her mind replayed the gunshot in the alley, the look in Damien's eyes right before he shoved her out of its path.
He had saved her.
And then he had disappeared.
Just like that.
---
By noon, Lyra was pacing her apartment. Her phone sat on the counter, silent. She'd texted Damien once — Are you alive? — and then hated herself for it. No reply.
It had been twenty hours.
She tried to distract herself with editing photos from her last shoot — shadows, city lights, strangers — but every face in every frame reminded her of him.
Finally, she slammed her laptop shut and grabbed her camera. If he wouldn't come to her, she'd find him.
---
Lyra started at the only place she knew he might be — The Ember Lounge.
The club looked different in daylight, stripped of its glamour. The neon sign was off, and the smell of cigarettes lingered like ghosts. Inside, Naomi was wiping down the bar when Lyra pushed through the door.
"Girl, you look like you saw a ghost," Naomi said immediately. "What's going on with you?"
Lyra hesitated. "You ever seen that guy again? The one I was talking to last week? Damien?"
Naomi froze. "Lyra, please tell me you're not still involved with him."
"What do you mean still?"
Naomi's lips pressed into a line. "You think you're the first girl he's pulled into his mess? The man is bad news. I've seen him with people I don't even wanna know by name. Half the time he walks in here, he's bleeding or whispering to some guy who looks like he came straight outta a mob movie."
Lyra's heart sank. "What kind of people?"
"The kind who don't talk — they just look at you and you know to mind your business."
Lyra leaned on the bar. "Naomi, I think he's in trouble."
Naomi sighed. "Lyra, if Damien Cole's in trouble, he put himself there. Don't get dragged in."
But Lyra couldn't walk away. She couldn't forget the way he'd looked at her — the quiet sadness under all that danger. There had to be more to his story.
"Do you know where he lives?"
Naomi frowned. "You're seriously going there?"
"I just need to know he's okay."
Naomi hesitated, then lowered her voice. "He mentioned a place once — an old loft near the river, across from the train yard. It's all I know."
Lyra nodded. "Thanks."
"Be careful, Lyra," Naomi called after her. "You don't come back from people like him."
---
The loft was at the edge of the industrial district — an old brick building with cracked windows and ivy crawling up the walls. Lyra hesitated before pushing open the metal door. It creaked, echoing through the dim hallway.
She climbed to the third floor. The door to unit 3B was slightly ajar.
Her pulse quickened. "Damien?"
No answer.
She pushed the door open.
The place was half-empty — a mattress on the floor, a table scattered with cigarette butts and photographs. Dozens of them.
Lyra stepped closer.
They were pictures of the city — the same alleys and rooftops she loved to shoot — but these were different. They looked like surveillance. People captured mid-conversation, faces half-hidden under streetlights. And in the middle of the pile, she saw one that froze her blood.
Her.
A photo of her walking home two nights ago, camera slung over her shoulder, unaware.
The image was sharp, perfectly framed. Whoever took it had been close.
Her throat tightened. "Damien, what the hell—"
She turned and gasped. He was there, leaning against the doorway.
"You shouldn't be here," he said softly.
Lyra's heart slammed against her ribs. "You scared the hell out of me!"
"Good." He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "Maybe you'll stop following me."
She crossed her arms, ignoring the fear creeping up her spine. "You disappeared after someone tried to kill us. What was I supposed to do, just forget about it?"
He rubbed a hand over his jaw, looking exhausted. "You should've."
Lyra gestured to the photos. "Then explain this. Why are there pictures of me, Damien?"
He hesitated. For a long moment, she thought he might lie — but then his eyes softened, and she saw the truth fighting to escape.
"Because I had to know if they were watching you."
"Who?" she demanded.
"The people I used to work for."
Lyra blinked. "Used to?"
He gave a bitter laugh. "I was never good at staying out of trouble. I ran money and information for people — dangerous ones. It started small. Then one day, I saw something I wasn't supposed to. They gave me two choices: disappear, or die."
"And you chose to disappear," she whispered.
He nodded. "Until you."
Lyra's chest tightened. "So now they're after you again."
"After us," he said. "They saw me with you. They think you know something."
"I don't—"
"I know," he said quickly. "But they don't care."
---
Silence stretched between them, thick with everything unsaid.
Lyra looked at the photo of herself again, then back at him. "So what now?"
"I get you out of the city," he said. "Tonight."
"What?"
"They'll keep looking until they find you. I can buy you time, but—"
"I'm not leaving," she interrupted.
He frowned. "Lyra, this isn't a choice. They shot at you."
"And if I leave, you'll stay behind and get killed," she snapped. "No. I'm not running from your mess. If they're coming, I want to understand why."
He stared at her, jaw tight. "You don't get it. The people I'm talking about don't stop. They don't forgive. Once you're in their sight—"
"Then teach me how to survive it," she said.
That stopped him.
He looked at her like she was insane, but also — maybe — like he admired her for it.
"God, you're stubborn," he muttered.
"Maybe I just don't like being told what to do," she replied.
A flicker of a smile touched his lips. "You sound like me."
"Maybe that's why I can't stay away," she said quietly.
He froze, eyes locking on hers. "Don't say that."
"Why not?"
"Because if you do," he said softly, "I won't be able to walk away."
For a moment, they just stood there, the air between them alive with tension. Then, before she could speak, Damien closed the distance and kissed her.
It wasn't like before — not rough, not desperate. This one was slow, controlled, like he was memorizing her one last time.
When he pulled away, his voice was almost a whisper. "Pack a bag. I'll meet you at the train station in an hour."
Lyra's hand found his. "You'll actually be there?"
His gaze darkened. "I've already risked too much not to be."
---
An hour later, Lyra stood in the dimly lit train terminal with her camera bag and a pounding heart. The clock ticked past midnight. No sign of Damien.
She told herself to wait. Five minutes. Then ten. Then twenty.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown Number: Leave. Now.
Lyra's stomach twisted.
She typed back: Who is this?
The reply came instantly.
Unknown Number: If you value your life, walk away from Damien Cole.
Her breath hitched. She looked around — the station was nearly empty except for a few scattered passengers.
Then she saw him.
Damien, running toward her, eyes wide with urgency.
"Lyra, come on," he said, grabbing her wrist. "We're leaving now."
"What's happening?" she demanded.
"They found us."
A man in a gray suit appeared behind him — the same scarred one from the alley. Lyra's blood turned cold.
"Damien!" she shouted.
He spun around, pulling a gun from under his jacket.
"Run," he barked.
Lyra froze, torn between instinct and disbelief.
The scarred man smirked. "You really thought you could outrun us, Cole?"
Damien fired. The sound cracked through the station, echoing off tile and metal. The man dove for cover as Damien grabbed Lyra's hand and yanked her down a side corridor.
They burst out into the night, breath ragged, feet splashing through puddles.
"This is insane," she gasped.
"Welcome to my life," he said grimly.
They ducked into an abandoned warehouse across the tracks. Damien shoved the door closed and leaned against it, chest heaving.
Lyra stared at him. "You just shot at someone!"
"He would've killed you," Damien snapped.
"Then tell me why! Why are they hunting you?"
He met her eyes, and this time, he didn't look away.
"Because I stole something from them. Something they can't afford to lose."
"What?"
"A name," he said. "A list of every official they own in this city. Judges. Cops. Politicians. It's proof of everything they've built — and if it gets out, they burn."
Lyra stared, the magnitude sinking in. "You're saying you could destroy them."
"I'm saying," he said, voice low, "I already started."
The silence that followed was electric.
She stepped closer, whispering, "So what happens now?"
He smiled — that dark, dangerous curve of his mouth that made her heart twist. "Now, Lyra Hart, we run together."
---