"Too fuckin' dramatic."
Her voice cracked out like a lazy mutter, but sharp enough to bite. Smoke laced, from hot water and half dried cuts still stinging under the towel slung low around her.
She leaned her back against the fogged bathroom door, steam dripping off her skin, one bare foot on the cold wood floor, hip cocked, chin tipped up. dagger green eyes narrowing at the bastard hunched over the glowing desk.
Kaezren.
That bastard.
"You really went with a drunk old man? Serio?" She smirked while fishing for a missing hair tie, wet bangs sticking to her temple.
"You retouched my little accident and turned it into some cheap ass telenovela. Like Fast & Furious if it got knocked up by a soap opera rerun."
He didn't answer right away. Fingers tapping keys, sharp, precise. That smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Dead giveaway. He was eating her sarcasm up.
"Wouldn't fool a soul if you didn't look half dead, Sae Sae," he shot back finally, his voice brushed with that Irish lilt, name curling rough and too personal.
"You're an expensive runaway, not some teen out a romcom. I gave you a masterpiece."
"Uh huh." She padded closer, dragging her feet like some hungry alley cat, then dropped onto the edge of the bed without asking.
One hand holding the towel in place, the other rubbing water off her collarbone where raw skin still burned. "Masterpiece my ass, Rey Rey. I swear, if I hadn't swerved, my brains would be painted all over the goddamn asphalt."
His gaze flicked up, landing on the curve of her thigh peeking out. "Aye. But look at you now. You look damn good for a girl who just died."
She hurled the hair tie she finally found, nailed his forehead. He only grinned wider.
"Asshole."
"Wrong. Genius."
Silence pressed in. Just the hum of his PC fan, and rain beginning its soft tap on the glass. The city outside blurred, streetlights drowning in wet haze, like it had nothing to do with her anymore.
"I need out," she murmured, softer, but no less fierce. "A country where cash runs the system. A school that doesn't ask questions if tuition's fat. Somewhere I can vanish."
He glanced at her, then stood, grabbing his hoodie off the chair and tossing it at her. "Cover up before you start plotting international crimes, Sae."
She caught it, draped it on like a cape. "You're the one who taught me how to hack daddy's fortress, cariño. My criminal record's basically our love language."
His laugh cracked low, a little mad. "We bonded over breaking into your daddy's million dollar cage. C'est romantique, non?"
She rolled her eyes. "You sound like Zayred when you slip French in. Gross."
"Please. He's burnt baguette. I'm slick croissant."
"Your croissant tastes bitter."
He just arched a brow, sank back into his chair, clicking through windows. "Docs are halfway done. New name, three options. Pick the one you can still say when you're drunk."
"Aw, you know I can't stay sober long."
"Picture it, you half asleep, slurring, 'hi I'm… Elvira whatever the fuck.'"
Her laugh cracked sharp, mocking herself as much as him. But her eyes stayed cold, fixed. She leaned back, exhaling, letting the tight coil down her spine unspool an inch.
One step out. One life erased. One more lie to learn.
"Give me something simple. Easy to bribe with. And I want a rooftop. I get bored in class, I need an escape hatch." Her thumb hovered over her phone, scrolling not for distraction but staring at the last shot she took inside that mansion. Final memory before she torched it all.
Kaezren's chair squeaked as he turned, smirk carving his face. "Tu veux échapper à tout, ou seulement aux classes du matin?"
She shot him a blade sharp side eye. "If you just asked me to marry you, the answer's still no."
"Not yet. Later, when we're fake citizens."
"Ridiculous."
Her towel had slipped somewhere between sarcasm and silence, hoodie hanging loose down her thighs. She curled onto the bed, damp skin sinking into fabric, finally still.
He looked over once more, then bent to the screen again. "Let's make you disappear, princesa."
And she smiled, cold, alive. like a snake peeling off dead skin.
"Let's."
The ring light buzzed in the corner, cheap, cold, too blue for Kaezren's cramped room.
wires like veins spilling across the floor. But it lit her just right. A white blue glow to sculpt a stranger out of her skin.
Saelyn. no, Neyra Velda Syn, stood against the plain black curtain he'd thumbtacked crooked to the wall. Hoodie gone.
Cropped ribbed turtleneck hugging collarbones, tribal ink teasing through the edge of fabric. High waist jeans cinched with chain belt. Boots heavy, loud. Culun wasn't allowed.
Her fingers smoothed through fresh dyed strands. midnight blue bleeding into sangria red tips, soft as velvet from the conditioner she'd jacked from his bathroom shelf.
Color shimmered in her irises, green cut sharp as wet asphalt under streetlamps. She raised a brow at her reflection in the camera lens, daring it.
"How's the color?" The words rolled lazy off her tongue, sharp at the edges.
Kaezren peeked from the battered DSLR, grin like a cracked patch of code. "eccentric. Just what a transfer kid needs to give the profs migraines. Stand straighter, Neyra."
The name still felt foreign, cold on the tongue. Ney-ra. Hissed in the middle. Syn, like sin.
She shifted, shoulders back, chest open, heartbeat syncing to the test-click of the shutter. Lyxaria. Glass towers she'd only seen on gg, hallways smelling of waxed marble floors. A gate to vanish, to crawl out new.
Kaezren lowered the camera, eyes weighing. "Tilt the head left. Aye, that. Changin' who you are gotta look like you barely tried, cariño."
"Stop flirting. I need a photo that makes immigration bow, not turn on."
"Oh, they'll kneel either way," he chuckled, fingers dancing the dials. Shutter popped again, ring light pouring ozone heat, turning her throat into satin glow.
Pain tugged her arm under the sleeve, the scrape still raw, reminder stunt had teeth before.
She shook her head once, banishing a flash of Rhazen's tux, his shadow heavier than steel. Zayred's laugh, bonjour, chérie. Ghost voices, distant. Here, only Kaezren, only rain drilling the tin roof.
Click.
"Done." He flipped the camera screen. "One crop and you're Neyra Velda Syn, twenty four, whole world's about to eat your new id."
Her eyes locked on the lcd. Expression flat, chin tilted, lips parted just enough to promise arrogance.
Midnight hair, red bleeding ends falling like wings. Designer boots attitude. She smirked. "Not bad."
"Not bad? That's art, love." He slid to his laptop, dragging her face into template boxes. Background swapped, stamp seals mocked up.
"Passport, id, student card, library, hell. even coffee discount card. All ready 'fore sunrise."
She grabbed the water bottle, cold edge stinging cracked lips. "Visa?"
"cigs runs a fast track. They love 'diversity.' Pay thirty large, your file clears before they even pronounce your name."
She laughed, sharp. "Lyxaria, the land where money talks louder than God."
"And that, princesa, is our love language." He perched on the desk, legs folded, eyes red from caffeine but still alive with fever.
"Tomorrow, I patch port logistics. Cargo ship in Caevros. Planes too risky, facial scans too fresh."
Her nod was small, pulse tangled between hunger and fear. A breath, a brush of damp hair tucked back. "Once I land, it's mine. Don't get caught."
He leaned closer, ring light shadow carving his jaw. "Caught? I pulled you out the rubble, lass. Till you're Neyra for real, I'm your ghost."
She sighed, half annoyance, half surrender. Their eyes caught, green and red colliding. Rain hammered harder outside, syncopating their silence.
"Alright," she rasped finally, low, sugar bitter. "Next shot. Student id. Smile. A lil' one."
Kaezren raised the lens, half pressed the shutter. "eccentric, approachable. Count of three."
"One." Breath caught in her throat. Neyra Velda Syn, born tonight.
"Two." The ring light buzzed, rain eased softer.
"Three."
Flash, her smirk caught halfway between sin and promise, hair lit like neon bleeding against shadow. Trouble, printed in pixels.
Click. The future froze on screen.
The offshore bank's interface glowed black and green, a pulse of electronic veins thumping steady like some second heart. Numbers flickered in clean rows, every line a secret waiting to be laundered.
Kaezren sat close, too close, his shoulder brushing hers when he leaned in.
He smelled of fresh coffee and lavender soap, all soft edges wrapped around a man who wrote code like he carved knives.
Spread across the table, the metal cards gleamed. black, platinum, titanium. Dirty money, stacked neat like dominoes.
"Shit looks like a sin buffet," Sae muttered, fingertip dragging across the last card just to hear that sharp scrape of metal on wood.
"Dump it all into Neyra's account. mixed currency, lowest fees you can choke down. I want it liquid before sunrise."
Kaezren cocked a brow, smirk flicking like he found her urgency cute. But his fingers never slowed on the keyboard. Click, enter, click, the sound of freedom chipping closer, one stolen balance at a time.
Sae's eyes snagged on the sleek black pen tucked behind his ear. Boy really kept stationery in his damn hair. She plucked it free, snapped open her sketchbook, a clean page daring her.
"Need a new sign," she said. "My name still slips. Signature worse."
The pen twirled restless between her fingers. A swooping N, wings wide. A sharp V shoved into the middle. Tail slashed with attitude.
Too neat. Not her. She slashed it out. Tried again, faster this time, jittery curves, lines half dancing, half dying.
Looked like an ekg readout. Ugly. Perfect. Ugly again. She cursed under her breath.
Beside her, Kaezren leaned just enough to watch, his mouth pulling sly. "Good sign's one you can scrawl half asleep with eyeliner on a mirror. Still looks the same."
"I don't sleep. That's the fuckin' problem." Sae propped her chin on her fist, staring at the half dried ink bleeding into the page.
Ghosts pressed at her chest, family chains, that fake accident, a fiancé with too cold eyes. All that shit pressing down, choking out air. Focus, mujer.
A soft tap, Kaezren's knuckle against his laptop, pulling her back. "First card cleared."
His red gaze slid from screen to paper. "We could link your sign to a gesture profile. Doesn't have to match the letters, just the way you move. Pressure, speed. One rhythm, only yours."
Her head lifted slow. "Like a catwalk for my hand?" She smirked, reckless. "Sounds easier."
The trackpad blinked alive. White box, waiting. Her pulse thudded in her ears. This is it. Die once, get reborn in pixels. Signature = umbilical cord, cut clean.
She dragged the pen across the pad, one long curve, one sudden break, a swirl sharp enough to stab. Not letters. Not anything. Just a dare.
Green light blinked. Match accepted.
"Hot," Kaezren breathed near her ear, his accent curling wicked around the word as he hit enter.
The balance rolled over, numbers stacking high, six digits, then seven. Her name. no, Neyra's, spelled across a dashboard like a neon crown.
Heat flushed up her throat. "Feels like pulling a trigger without the bang."
He half closed the laptop, a deliberate pause heavy as silence. "Keep the bullet for later. Old cards, what do we do?"
"Burn, melt, resin," she said, flicking one card against the wood until it spun silver light. "Turn it into some ugly art piece. Abstract. Priceless."
Kaezren chuckled low, dark. "Neyra Velda Syn. Art terrorist."
"Better than mafia bride." She slouched back, heartbeat hammering wild against her ribs. Too aware of him sitting there, close enough to set her skin burning under his heat.
Her smirk pulled sharp. "If this sign craps out tomorrow, you're paying my tuition with a kidney. Got it?"
He made a show of sighing. "Right or left?"
She leaned in, whispering sharp enough to sting. "Left. Blood flow's more romantic."
Click. Shutter sound. She caught his stunned face on her phone, grinning sin on her lips.
"Spice collected," she teased, sliding it into her pocket.
The monitor slipped into a green rain of numbers, Matrix style. Future waiting in Lyxaria, neon and nameless, glowing somewhere beyond their four walls.
Here, in this cramped room with a ring light buzzing overhead, two invisible signatures stitched themselves into place.
One carved in code, the other pressed into a trackpad's memory. Both belonging to Neyra.
Sae snapped her sketchbook shut, palm pressing firm over the cover. Ink still wet. Story not yet written. And damn, she liked the smell of it.