Amiya's POV
The night felt endless, dragging on with a heavy weight that made her chest tight and her thoughts spin. Amiya lay still on the cold, hard ground beneath her, not bothering to try to sleep. The shadows felt alive, swirling around her, and every little sound—every creak of the crumbling buildings, every rustle of the leaves in the wind—sent her senses into overdrive. She couldn't trust anything in this city. She didn't trust herself, and she definitely didn't trust Sylas.
But here she was, stuck in an alley with him, the faint glow of the moon casting long, jagged shadows on the walls. This wasn't supposed to be her life. None of it was. She had a plan—a future—but now, that seemed like a distant fucking dream. The city of Selune had swallowed her whole, and the worst part was that she was too fucking scared to admit it.
Her mind kept going back to the chaos in the square. The way it had started with a few thrown stones, and then suddenly, there was no distinction between the guards, the civilians, and the criminals. Everything was just noise, chaos, and violence, and in the midst of it, there had been Sylas. That rough hand on her wrist, dragging her through the chaos, saving her ass when she didn't even want to admit that she needed saving. She hated the feeling of being vulnerable, of needing help, but the truth was, she wasn't fucking stupid. Selune wasn't a city you survived alone. Not if you were like her—some noble-born idiot who had never spent a day on the streets until now.
She tried to shut out the thoughts that kept gnawing at her. There was no use. Her mind had a way of spinning its own stories, always making things bigger, scarier than they needed to be. But the more she thought about it, the clearer it became: she couldn't keep doing this. She couldn't keep running from the fucking consequences of whatever the hell she had gotten herself into. Running away from her responsibilities, from the city, from whatever it was she had once thought she was going to become.
It wasn't just the city. It was the life she had left behind. The life that felt so far removed now, like a memory of a girl she didn't even recognize. The weight of it was suffocating, and she hated that Sylas was the only one with her through it. She hated that he was the one keeping her grounded, even if she didn't want to admit it. There was something about him that got under her skin, something about the way he held himself—tough and guarded—that made her want to scratch beneath it. But she couldn't. She couldn't afford to care. She wouldn't.
Amiya's thoughts shifted back to Sylas as she heard the rustle of his movement beside her. She glanced over at him, sitting against the wall, his eyes dark and distant. He was always distant, always keeping things close to his chest. But tonight, there was something different in the air—something heavier than usual. His body language said he was on alert, but his eyes betrayed him. There was something lurking behind them, something that wasn't entirely cold, even though he tried to hide it.
What the hell was wrong with her? Why the hell did she care?
She pulled her knees up to her chest, trying to get comfortable despite the unrelenting chill in the air. She hated that she was stuck here, on the edge of a city that seemed determined to swallow her whole. She had no idea what the hell she was supposed to do now. Her life had turned into a series of fractured moments, each one disconnected from the next. There was no plan, no safety net—just survival.
The thought of leaving Selune, of actually running away from everything, sent a thrill of fear through her gut. It wasn't the fear of the unknown that got to her—it was the idea that she would never get her life back. That this wasn't just a temporary detour. This was the fucking reality now. And as much as she hated Sylas for being a part of it, she knew he was the only one who knew how to navigate this damn city.
When the first light of dawn broke through the night, Amiya didn't feel relief. If anything, she felt like the darkness had finally given way to a new kind of danger. A different kind of threat. They were still in Selune, and as long as they were here, the danger never stopped. It was always just one step behind, waiting for them to slip up.
Sylas didn't waste any time. He didn't ask if she was ready. He didn't need to. He was already up, already moving, the quiet command in his movements making her feel like she was fucking treading water. But she didn't have a choice. The city was changing, and she had to keep moving, even if she didn't know what the hell she was running toward.
"You ready?" he asked, his voice rough and edged with something she couldn't place.
Amiya didn't answer immediately. She didn't know how to answer. She didn't know what was left for her to even hold onto. But her instincts kicked in, and she didn't hesitate. She stood up, brushing dirt and grime off her clothes, ignoring the sting of discomfort in her body. "Ready to leave this fucking place," she muttered.
Sylas didn't respond, but she didn't expect him to. They weren't here to talk. They were here to survive.
And survive they would—together, or not at all.
Sylas's POV
The hours seemed to crawl by, one breath at a time, the weight of the city settling like a cloud over his shoulders. He had always prided himself on being able to read people, to know what they were thinking before they even knew it themselves. But Amiya? She was fucking unpredictable. And it pissed him off just as much as it intrigued him.
When he had first grabbed her in the square, pulling her through the chaos, it had felt like a goddamn reflex. He hadn't thought about it. He didn't have time to think. But now, as the night wore on and they found some semblance of safety in the abandoned courtyard, Sylas couldn't shake the feeling that he had made a fucking mistake.
Amiya wasn't like the others. She wasn't some noblewoman wrapped in silk, unaware of the real world. No, she had fire in her. She had grit. That much was clear. But he had seen it before—the desperation behind the eyes of someone who had never had to fight for anything before, only to find themselves thrown into the worst kind of shit.
He had seen that desperation in the mirror when he had been forced to learn the hard way that the world didn't give a fuck about anyone, especially not people like him. People who were born with nothing, who had to claw and fight for every scrap of their lives.
But Amiya? She wasn't supposed to be here. She wasn't supposed to be in this godforsaken city, running from whatever the hell it was she was running from. She didn't belong in the streets of Selune, didn't belong in the chaos he had carved out of the city over the years. And yet, here she was—caught in it, just like him.
When the tension between them thickened, when the silence stretched on longer than it should have, Sylas couldn't shake the way she looked at him. There was something in her eyes that made him feel like he was being seen for the first time in ages. But he didn't want to be seen. He didn't want anyone to get close enough to see the cracks in his armor. And yet, here she was, forcing him to confront those cracks, whether he liked it or not.
When dawn finally came, the light felt like a fucking reminder. A reminder that the night was over, but the danger was still very much real. They hadn't escaped anything. Not yet. But there was a pull to her, something deeper than the chaos of the square or the weight of Selune hanging over them.
"You ready?" he asked, his voice rough from the cold, from the fucking exhaustion of it all. He already knew the answer, but asking it felt like some last fucking attempt to regain control of a situation he had lost grip on the second he had dragged her into this mess.
She didn't hesitate. She stood, brushing herself off like she wasn't fucking breaking inside. But he saw the way she moved, the way she held herself—like a fighter, even if she didn't want to admit it. The same way he had once fought, clawed his way out of a life he never wanted to live.
They didn't speak as they walked through the streets of Selune, each step filled with the knowledge that this city would never let them go. They were bound to it now. Bound to each other, whether they liked it or not.
And that was the reality. Together, or fucking nothing.
But as they walked away from the city, away from the chaos, Sylas couldn't help but feel like he was stepping into something far worse. Something they would never be able to outrun.