POV: Evan
We left the precinct and the cold air hit my face, but it didn't do anything to cool my anger.
I walked fast, fists clenched in the jacket pockets, putting distance between us. I didn't look back. I knew she was following.
I stopped dead at the corner, on a side street where no coworkers were watching. I turned and faced her.
"Do you have any idea what you just did?" I said. My voice came out low, loaded with rage. "You almost assaulted a sergeant."
Ayla stopped a meter from me. She looked at me with that expressionless face that was starting to drive me insane.
"He verbalized a lethal threat. I responded."
"It's a figure of speech!" I cut in, frustrated. "No one was going to rip my head off. Damn it, Ayla… What's wrong with you? Are you on something? Steroids? Military training? You almost got me stripped of my badge."
She tilted her head, ignoring my questions.
"The conflict has consumed my reserves. I need meat."
I ran my hands over my face, exhausted.
"Unbelievable. You almost go to jail and all you think about is eating."
"Feed me," she ordered. And her stomach growled. It wasn't a normal sound. It sounded like rocks being crushed inside a cave.
I looked into her eyes. There was something there… something that told me it wasn't a good idea to refuse.
"Fine. Let's grab something quick to eat and then I'll take you to your apartment. And you stay there. I don't want to see you the rest of the day. Understood?"
I took her to Burger's Pit, a cheap place that was half-empty at that hour.
We sat at a table in the back. Ayla devoured three double burgers in less than five minutes.
I didn't eat. I crossed my arms and watched her seriously.
"You need to control yourself," I said, harsh. "I don't know where you come from or who taught you to fight like that, but there are rules here. If you threaten a cop again, I won't be able to save you."
Ayla wiped grease from her mouth with the back of her hand.
She was about to answer, but she froze.
The lights in the place flickered.
Zzzzt.
The radio's music warped, dropping into a low, moaning pitch. The air turned cold all at once.
Ayla dropped the food. Her eyes locked on the entrance door.
"What now?" I asked, irritated.
"Don't look," she whispered. Her voice had a tone I hadn't heard before. Tension.
The door bell rang.
A man entered.
---
POV: Ayla
The smell arrives before him.
It smells like ozone, like dried blood and stellar void. A scent no human can perceive, but one that makes my teeth vibrate.
He is a Vigilante. A direct emissary of the Hive.
He enters the eatery.
His disguise is good. He's copied the look of a middle-aged human male: cheap gray suit, briefcase, thinning hair. He looks like a tired insurance salesman.
But I see the flaws.
He does not blink. His skin is too waxy, like plastic. And when he walks, his knees don't flex with the correct biological smoothness.
Evan turns to look.
"Who is that?" he asks.
"Shut up," I order.
The Vigilante turns his head and his eyes — brown, flat, lifeless — find me instantly.
He walks toward our table. Every step he takes makes the ceiling lights hum.
He stops in front of us.
Evan, being the stupid protector he is, tenses.
"Can we help you, sir?" Evan asks, using his cop voice.
The Vigilante ignores him. To him, Evan is furniture. Talking meat.
He sits in the empty chair at our table, sets the briefcase on the surface and stares at me.
"Unit Ayla," he says. His voice is raspy, like sand in the throat. "The King demands a progress report."
Evan frowns, looking at me and then at the weird guy.
"Unit? What are you talking about? Is he your friend?"
I have to handle this carefully. If the Vigilante decides Evan is a nuisance, he will disintegrate him right here.
"He is a… supervisor," I lie, meeting the Vigilante's eyes, sending a warning signal: Don't touch the human.
The Vigilante smiles. It's a horrible gesture. His lips stretch too far, showing more teeth than necessary.
"Is the planet suitable for harvest?" he asks, ignoring my signal. "Does the dominant species offer resistance? Shall we initiate the purge tonight?"
Evan laughs, nervously.
"The purge? Hey, buddy, if this is a joke…"
The Vigilante turns his head toward Evan. Fast. Too fast.
"The specimen speaks," the Vigilante says, fascinated. "Is he your pet, Ayla? Or is he food you're saving for later?"
I watch Evan pale. His instinct is screaming at him to run.
I place my hand on the table. I dig my nails into the Formica until they pierce it.
"He's my asset," I growl under my breath. "He's my camouflage. Do not touch him."
The Vigilante looks at me. His dead eyes assess the threat.
"You've softened, Warrior. The King does not tolerate weakness."
"It isn't weakness. It's strategy."
The Vigilante stands. He grabs his briefcase.
"You have three moon cycles, Ayla. If you do not deliver the world by then… we will send the Cleaners. And we will start with your 'pet.'"
He turns and leaves the place.
The lights stop flickering. The radio music returns to normal.
The cold vanishes.
I stare at the closed door. My heart beats slow and heavy.
They have found my location. The clock has started.
---
POV: Evan
I stood looking at the door where the man in the gray suit had exited.
Goosebumps prickled my skin.
He hadn't done anything violent. He hadn't pulled a weapon. But there was something about him… something in the way he looked at me, like I was a piece of meat in a display case.
"What the hell was that?" I asked. My voice trembled a little. "Who was that guy? What is this about 'harvest' and 'the purge'?"
Ayla kept staring at the table. I saw her fingers embedded in the wood. Literally embedded. She'd made five holes in the hard surface as if it were putty.
"Ayla…" I called.
She withdrew her hand slowly, hiding the marks. She lifted her gaze.
Her eyes were dark, serious. There was no trace left of the clueless girl who didn't understand metaphors.
"He was a collector," she said.
"A collector?" I looked at her incredulous. "A collector who talks about purges and pets? He seemed… sick. His skin was weird."
"They come from far away. They have strange customs."
She stood up from the chair abruptly.
"I've eaten. Let's go."
We went out into the street. The night seemed darker than before.
We walked toward the building in silence. I had a thousand questions in my head, but fear choked them in my throat.
"Pet." He'd called me a pet. And Ayla hadn't denied it. She had said I was her "asset."
We reached the door to her apartment, 3B.
She stopped with her hand on the knob.
"Evan," she said without turning.
"What?"
"That man… he is not kind. If you see him again, don't speak to him. Don't try to stop him. Run."
"Why? Is he mob? What kind of trouble are you in, Ayla?"
She turned. She looked at me steadily. For a second, I saw a flicker of something like concern in her cold eyes.
"He's not the mafia. He's worse."
She opened the door and entered her apartment full of boxes.
"Lock your door tonight, Evan."
And she closed the door in my face.
I stood alone in the hallway, under the broken bulb they still hadn't replaced, feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the weather.
I went to my apartment, shut the door and bolted it. Then I put the chain on. Then I pushed a chair against it.
I sat on the couch, staring at the door, thinking about the dead eyes of the man in the gray suit.
Pet.
I took out my service pistol and set it on the coffee table.
I didn't know what was going on with my new neighbor. But I had the horrible feeling that my boring life had just ended forever.