Page 3

TWO

Lucius

Of all the things I might have done with my Friday afternoon, this was not one I had planned.

Isat alone in an empty cafe across the street from the library, the rain traced nervous lines across my coffee cup. The air smelled of wet asphalt and burnt espresso, the kind that stays on the tongue long after the firstsip. Inside,the same types of customers sat in their usual chairs. Two elderly couples who’d lived on my street for as long as I could remember were inside as well. We shared the same spacebut did not touch. A nod here, asilent greeting there.

And Cassius, my best friend, was forty-five minutes late.

With nothing to do but wait, I chose a table outdoors beneath an awning that barely kept the rain off. The wind whipped a fine mist under its edges, leaving my clothes damp. I had a leather jacket that took most of the hit, butmy hair took the brunt of it — strands soaked and clinging to my forehead. I ran a handthrough it, brushing back the traces of my impatience.

Next week, I was supposed to be starting fresh, building something new. Instead, I was pacing around this small town, searching for something that did not exist.

I missed London. The anonymity. The way you could get lost in the pulse of the city and no one would ever know. Here, the quiet wrapped around me like a net, tightening every time I tried to breathe.

I did not leave London because of the weather. And I didn’t do it voluntarily, either.

When you grow up in a house on fire, you begin to believe the whole world is burning. It’s not. Though the smoke gets stuck on you, seeps into your pores, remains with you even when you think you’ve escaped it. I should know—I’m the one who lit the match.

I lifted my cup, took a sip, and wrinkled my nose. Coffee was cold, bitter, ruthless.

Then my phone buzzed.

A name showed up on the screen.

My grip constricted, holding my breath.

I exhaled through my nose and braced myself. Then, I swiped to answer.

“Yeah,” I answered, swiping my finger across the screen. The drizzle slicked the surface, making it slippery under my touch.

“I’m not going to make it,” he breathed,voice low, lazy.

I sighed andpressed two fingers to my temple. “Fine. What books do we need?”

Silence stretched. A faint rustling crackled through the line, like fabric shifting. Then—

A moan.

My breath hitched. Had I misheard? But before I could second-guess, another moan followed, then another, deep and drawn-out.

My eyes snapped wide.

“Cass?” I gulped, trying to ignore the moans. “Are you having sex right now?” I let out a laugh. “What about bros before hoes?”

A strangulated noise—half gasp, half laugh—cut through the static. Then he said, “Nooo. Well, technically.”

My jaw was clenched. “You can continue—doing whatever. Just text me the list of books.”

Another moan. A breathless “Yeah, baby.” Then, louder, “Damn, girl!”

I dragged a hand down my face, my fingers tunneling into my cheek. “List?”

“Texting you right now,” he panted. “Also, I’m okay if we share, you know? You’ve been so stiff lately—“

“Cass, shut the fuck up,” I blurted, laughter bubbling up despite myself.

“What?” he asked, all false innocence. “Stiff?”

I stabbed the screen to hang up.

A sharp breath escaped me as I leaned back, rubbing my eyes.

“Unbefuckinglievable,” I muttered under my breath, pushing up from the table.

My jacket sagged against my shoulders, damp from the rain. I dug into my pocket, pulled out coins, counting ￡4, and dropped it on the table. The waitress had been kind, even though I’d been a complete asshole earlier, snapping at her because Cass was thirty minutes late and I needed someone to blame.

Lifting a hand, I gave her a small wave with an awkward smile.

She glanced up and met my gaze. Her lips curled. Then, without hesitation, she flipped me off, shoving her middle finger in the air.

I froze.

My mouth opened—then closed.

“Okay,” I murmured, nodding. “I deserved that.”

Leaving the tip and cup on the table, I slowly turned around and walked away across the street. The rain hadlifted, and for a moment, it seemed the dark cloud above the town had left the afternoon sky — but a darker one was coming right behind. I flew into the bookstore and closed the door behindme before the rain could begin again.

In the middle of the room, there was a table with a computer on it. An older Asian woman sat behind looking at me, up and down. I had never met her before, but for some reason, I felt as if she was staring at my future, present, and past.

“Do you work here?” I asked, looking around.

The place was empty.

She tilted her head. “No, honey. I collect dust,” she said, her thick Asian accent sending a laugh through me.

“I’m here to collect books for Professor Lucius Lockwood.” I unbent my back, reached into the pocket of my leather jacket, and drew out a piece of paper that was all scrunched up. I put it on the table, trying to flatten it out, but only making it worse.

I chuckled. She made me nervous.

She blinked twice, then gazed at the paper. She was quiet for a few seconds before she pinched it between two fingers, her head tilting as she struggled to read.

Then, in her broken English, she asked, “You professor?”

“I am.” I straightened my back as if that would make it more believable.

“What school?” she pressed, squinting.

“Blackthorn Academy,” I said, almost proud—though that place was the last place I wanted to be.

She shook her head. “No.” Placing the paper back on the table, she added, “You look too stupid to be a professor.”

“Excuse me?” I raised a brow.

“Young and stupid,” she repeated, standing up.

As she rose, she snatched the paper back between her fingers and turned away. She was barely 4‘9“, but I swear, I had never been more intimidated by a woman in my life. She walked off on her tiptoes, hips swaying, mumbling something under her breath.

I think she likes me.

Leaning back against the table, I rested my elbows on the wood and let my face fall into my hands before brushing back the strands of hair that had fallen into my eyes. Tilting my head to the side, my gaze drifted toward the window.

And that’s when I saw her.

A woman.

Lost.

Oh, hi there.

I wasn’t looking for anyone today, but I found you.

A black umbrella covered her upper body, and I could see the rain sliding down. Her legs were long, and thin, squeezed into tight blue jeans. Her brown blazer covered half of her bottom, but when she turned gently, it wasn’t her ass that caught my attention, it was the long locks of ginger hair jumping on her back as she walked along the bookstore window. And just as I wished for her to enter so I could see her face, she was getting closer.

Who are you?

She moved her umbrella, lowering it as she stepped inside. She placed it in the umbrella holder near the door and continued inside, her eyes scanning the books on the wooden bookshelves.

An Asian woman came back, barely holding five thick books in her hands, dragging her body as she reached the table. When she did, she dropped them with a loud thud .

The girl from earlier turned her head towards us, startled by the sound. Our eyes met for just a second, but that second was enough. I knew the colors of secrets her eyes carried, and I wanted to be part of them all. Her hair shone under the light like a star, the brightest one, and for a moment, I forgot that the Asian lady was still in the same room.

“Pretty lady, huh?” she said, clapping one of the books against the table.

I ignored her. I just watched how the girl moved. Her walk was light, her hands elegantly brushing each book on the shelf before she slowly disappeared into the narrow space between two parallel bookshelves in the corner.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Her ginger hair drew attention, which she didn’t like. And from the look on her face when the loud noise startled her, I could tell she was easily scared.

You need someone to protect you. Say no more.

I like you, pretty star. No, LittleStar.

“You deaf, too?” the Asian lady shouted in my face, shattering my daydreams of stars.

“Guilty.” I turned to her. “What was the question?”

She squinted at me for a few seconds, then asked, “Do you need a bag?”

“Yes, please,” I said, smiling.

“Fifty,” the woman said.

“Huh?” I turned back to her.

“Books not free, young man. Pay up.” She stood with her hands on her hips, waiting.

I dug into my pocket, pulled out ￡50, and placed it on the table. She lifted the bill, squinting at it as if checking for counterfeits. Satisfied, she stuffed it under the cashier drawer and said, “Okay, bye!”

I took the bag of books and looked around one last time, hoping to catch a glimpse of Little Star again. But she was hiding behind the books and the wooden shelf.

Not for long.

I waved to the lady at the counter and left the store, closing the door behind me.

Rain drizzled again, softer this time. My bike was parked in the corner beside the café where I had been waiting earlier. Isn’t it funny how life gives you exactly whatyou need, right when you need it? And I needed her. I needed that star. I needed to know everything about her.

I wanted to know her favorite color. Her favorite flower. What she wished upon before going to bed.

I am a sick man.But I might just find my cure.

I walked toward my vintage 1970 Harley-Davidson —a beast that carried me on the days I wanted to escape... well, everything. A fire decal burned on the left side of the engine, a reminder of my past. A warning of how easily I could get burned. That was why I preferred the shadows, the back corners where no one asked questions.

I placed the book in the leather trunk and reached for my helmet. As I slid it on, I swung my leg over the bike, ready to leave. But just as I was about to start the engine—

She stepped out of the bookstore with a book in her hands.

Oh, hi, we meet again.

Fuck.

I have to see where you live, I have to take a closer look at you.

I let her walk for a few minutes, following her path with my eyes. When she slipped out of sight, I turned the engine on and followed.

I’m too close. I know who I am. I won’t be able to control it. Fuck I did it before, but Little Star, you will be the one. You just don’t know it yet.

I stayed far enough behind for her not to notice, driving slower than I ever had. The bike’s engine roared in my ears, and for the first time, I hated the sound. She could hear it at any moment.

I stopped at the side of the road, killing the engine. She crossed onto a more secluded path. The moment she did, I started the bike again—this time speeding up to catch her. I needed to pass close, to breathe in the air she left behind.

But as I brushed past her, I caught her off guard.

Too close.

She stumbled backward, falling into a puddle at the edge of the road.

“You asshole!” she shouted as she struggled to get up, slipping again and again in the same puddle of mud.

I could have gone back. I could have helped her.

But I didn’t want her to meet me.

Not yet.

So I drove off.

Not far. Just enough to watch her from the distance.

It’s funny how one second can turn into an obsession. How one person can become an entire world?

Oh, Little Star, you have no idea.

When the time is right, you will be mine.

But time is now, and control is what I don’t have when it comes to precious little toys like you.

I will hunt you, stalk you, make you mine, and I know now you are the one who will take my heart.

Fuck, Little Star, you will be mine .