JUNE MILLER POV
The moment I slammed the front door and threw the deadbolt, my legs finally gave out. I slid down the wood, my chest heaving with a frantic, wheezing sound that I realized was me trying not to scream. My lungs felt like they had been scrubbed with sandpaper, and the salt spray on my skin was itching like crazy.
I sat there in the dark of our tiny entryway, listening. I waited for the sound of boots on the stairs, for the door to be kicked in, for the cold, arrogant voice of that boy, Jeremy, to tell me it was over.
Five minutes passed. Then ten.
The only sound was the hum of the refrigerator and the distant, muffled sirens of Sector 4. The silence was heavy, but it wasn't the "wool" of a monster. It was just... night.
"They stopped," I whispered, my forehead resting against my knees. "They actually stopped."
I didn't know why. Maybe they lost me in the Narrow. Maybe they realized that chasing a "mouse" through the gutters was beneath their noble dignity. Whatever the reason, the air didn't feel like it was vibrating anymore. The pressure was gone.
I reached into my pocket to call Brandt—to tell him to get over here, to tell him I was okay—but my hand met empty fabric.
My heart sank. The phone. The obsidian-black, beautiful, expensive gift from a boy who shouldn't exist. It must have fallen when Jeremy tackled me on the pier. The thought of it lying there in the dirt, or worse, in his hands, made a fresh wave of nausea roll over me.
"Great," I muttered, wiping a stray tear from my cheek. "I lose the most expensive thing I've ever owned in less than four hours. Real smooth, June."
I stood up, my muscles screaming in protest. I felt disgusting—covered in pier-grime, rain, and the lingering scent of that alleyway. I needed to wash the night off me before I lost my mind.
I stripped off my soaked denim jacket and the yellow t-shirt with the cat on it, leaving them in a damp heap on the bathroom floor. I turned the shower handle all the way to the red zone, waiting for the pipes to groan and rattle until the small room was thick with steam.
Stepping into the water felt like a religious experience. The heat was borderline painful, but it drowned out the phantom sensation of Jeremy's hands on my shoulders. I stood there for a long time, eyes closed, letting the soap suds wash away the salt and the fear. I tried to think about the popcorn. I tried to think about Adam's smile. I had to hold onto those memories, or the image of Jeremy's face in the dark would be the only thing left.
When I finally climbed out, wrapped in a threadbare bathrobe, I felt human again. Battered, but human.
I walked into the small living area, intending to collapse on the sofa, but I stopped when I saw a movement near the bedroom door.
"June?"
Becky was standing there, blinking against the dim light. She looked pale, her hair a mess of sleep-tangled curls, but she was awake. Really awake. The "arousal" from her deep, Rift-induced sleep seemed to have left her in a state of dazed confusion.
"Becky! You're up," I said, my voice cracking. I rushed over and grabbed her shoulders, checking her temperature with my palm. She felt warm. Normal.
"What time is it?" she croaked, rubbing her eyes. "I had the weirdest dream... there was a church, and this woman in black, and... wait, why are you wet? And why do you look like you just fought a lawnmower?"
I looked at her—my best friend, the person who had almost been turned into a raisin by a Rift-nun—and I couldn't hold it back anymore. The dam broke.
"Sit down, Becky," I said, leading her to the mismatched kitchen chairs. "I need to tell you everything. And I mean everything. From the angel in the lobby to the neon-pink sticky note, to the reason why two 'nobles' just tried to murder me in the park."
Becky sat, her jaw slowly dropping as I started from the beginning. I told her about Adam and Eve. I told her about the Gray Light that saved us. I told her about the popcorn at the pier and the way the world felt like it was resetting itself.
As I talked, Becky's eyes went from sleepy to dinner-plate wide.
"So, let me get this straight," Becky said, her voice a mix of awe and horror. "You're dating a guy who is basically a solar flare in human skin, and now his jealous ex-teammates are hunting you like a sport-fish?"
"He's not a solar flare, he's just... Adam," I said, though I knew how ridiculous it sounded. "And I don't think they're hunting me anymore. I think... I think something happened. It just went quiet."
I looked at the window, the fog pressing against the glass. I was safe for now. But I had no phone, no way to contact the "Masterpiece" who was probably wondering why I disappeared, and a dead Noble somewhere in the city's narrative.
"June," Becky said, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. Her grip was solid. Real. "You're a maniac. But if he's as cute as you say he is... he's worth the attempted murder."
I let out a shaky laugh, leaning my head on the table. "He's worth it, Becky. He's definitely worth it."