The door clicked shut behind Jack with a low thud, sealing him inside Elena Curtis's apartment. The first thing that hit him was the scent;warm, sweet, faintly floral, like vanilla mixed with some kind of exotic perfume that clung to the air and wrapped itself around him. The place wasn't luxurious, not the polished kind of home you'd find in the high-rises of Neon City's upper districts, but it wasn't shabby either. It was clean, modern, decorated with effort and taste. Soft beige walls, a modest couch with a knitted throw draped across it, a small bookshelf stacked with novels and Academy texts, and a few framed pictures hung at careful angles.
The apartment gave off the kind of feeling that spoke of someone who cared about their space but wasn't drowning in wealth. Comfortable. Lived in. Approachable.
"Make yourself at home," Elena's voice slid through the air like silk. She slipped out of her coat, revealing a form-fitting blouse that clung just enough to her curves to make Jack's pulse skip. She padded into the small kitchen, tossing a teasing glance over her shoulder. "Drink? I've got wine, soda, or—" she tilted her head, smirking, "something a little stronger."
Jack looked around, slowly moving toward the shelf where her photos were. His eyes caught on a framed picture of a younger Elena in a school uniform, smiling awkwardly with a group of friends. Another one showed her with a middle-aged couple;her parents, he guessed,taken in a modest-looking living room. Then there was one of her standing in front of what looked like an Academy building, books clutched to her chest, hair tied back but eyes carrying the same mischievous light they did now.
She wasn't born rich. Middle-class at best. The pictures painted that story clearly: parents that worked hard, a daughter who had dreams bigger than her neighborhood. For some reason, Jack found himself staring longer than he expected, maybe because it reminded him of the life he didn't have—photos, family, smiles. His own walls had been blank.
"Wine's good," he finally said, breaking away from the pictures.
Elena emerged with two glasses of red wine, swaying slightly as though even the act of walking was meant to draw eyes. She handed him a glass and, without missing a beat, settled close enough on the couch that their knees brushed.
"To unexpected dinners," she raised her glass, lips curling into a half-smile.
Jack clinked his glass against hers, watching the way the light caught her eyes as she took a slow sip. Her gaze never really left him—it lingered, hungry but playful, as though she was letting him know that she was the one steering this moment, not him.
"So," she leaned back, wine swirling lazily in her glass, "tell me something, Void Walker."
Jack stiffened at the name.
"You really thought I wouldn't figure it out?" Elena tilted her head, grin widening. "Everyone in the city's been talking about him. About you. And now here you are, in my apartment, with no mask. I must be lucky."
He gave a low chuckle, sipping his wine to hide his unease. "Or maybe reckless."
"Maybe both," she whispered, her voice dipping lower, softer.
The apartment seemed smaller suddenly, warmer. Jack felt the faint thrum of his own heartbeat in his ears as she shifted closer.
"You've got that look," Elena teased, setting her glass down on the coffee table. "Like you're trying too hard to act calm. But I can see it—the tension, the way your shoulders won't quite relax. You fight monsters out there, Jack. But when was the last time you let someone get close?"
Jack swallowed, his throat suddenly dry despite the wine. "Close isn't something I can afford."
"Mmm." Elena's fingers traced the rim of her glass absentmindedly, but her eyes locked onto his. "Maybe you can't afford not to."
Jack didn't answer. He wasn't sure he could. The silence stretched, heavy and electric. Elena leaned forward slightly, the faint scent of her perfume washing over him.
"You don't talk much, do you?" she whispered, her lips so close he could feel her breath. "That's okay. I like the strong, silent types."
She leaned back again, deliberately slow, picking up her glass and finishing the rest of her wine in a single, elegant swallow. Then she set it aside and stood, walking toward a small cabinet where more pictures lined the top. Jack's eyes followed her, caught on the curve of her hips as she moved. She placed a photo face-down, almost self-conscious, then turned back to him with a smile that was anything but.
"You've got a dangerous smile, Jack. Like you've seen too much but you're still daring the world to try again."
He almost smirked at that, but she didn't give him the chance.
Elena stepped closer, her hands brushing against his as she took his empty glass from him. She placed it down next to hers, then instead of sitting back on the couch, she lowered herself onto his lap, straddling him. Jack tensed instinctively, but her hands pressed gently against his shoulders, easing him back into the couch cushions.
Her face hovered just inches from his, eyes locked onto his with an intensity that made his chest feel tight. "Tell me no," she whispered. "And I'll stop."
Jack stared at her, silent. The truth was, he didn't want to stop. Every nerve in his body screamed that this was reckless, that he shouldn't be here, that letting her in like this could be dangerous. But she was so close. So warm. So alive.
His silence was answer enough.
Elena's lips met his, soft at first, testing, then deeper, hungrier. Jack felt the wine on her tongue, the sweetness mingling with something fiercer. His hands moved without thought, sliding up her sides, feeling the heat radiating off her body through the thin fabric of her blouse.
The kiss deepened, their movements more urgent, as though the tension of the evening had been leading to this single, inevitable point. Elena's fingers tangled in his hair, pulling slightly, drawing a low sound from him. She broke the kiss only to press another to his jaw, his neck, before returning to his lips with renewed force.
Jack's pulse hammered in his chest. The world outside, the system, the danger—none of it mattered here. Not in this moment.
Elena pulled back just enough to whisper, her voice husky, "Prepare to be amazed."
Then she tugged at his shirt, and Jack found himself half-laughing, half-breathless, as they tumbled off the couch together, stumbling toward her bedroom. They fell onto the bed in a mess of limbs and heat, lips finding each other again, tangled in the sheets as if the night belonged to them alone.
The last thing Jack registered before surrendering to the chaos of it all was the flicker of the city's neon glow slipping in through her half-drawn curtains, painting the room in shades of red and violet.
And then, nothing but the heat of the moment.