His words hung between us like smoke.
Who do you think I am?
My lips parted, but nothing came out. My thoughts scattered like loose pages ripped from a book, flung into the storm outside.
He was too close.
Every nerve in my body screamed at the proximity, at the heat radiating off him, at the way his gaze held me like chains I couldn't break.
I had spent my entire life surrounded by thoughts I never wanted to hear, voices I could never shut out. People were open books to me, whether they wanted to be or not.
But this man?
He was a locked chest.
A fortress.
A void.
And that terrified me more than the cruelest thoughts I had ever overheard.
"Answer me," he said softly, almost lazily, yet beneath the velvet of his tone was steel, sharp and unyielding.
My throat worked. "You're… I don't know."
"Don't you?" His eyes glittered, sharp as shattered glass.
I swallowed hard. My power pulsed inside me, restless, straining against the wall of his silence.
I had never failed before. Not once. Even when I tried not to listen, the whispers always found their way in.
But now… nothing.
Not silence, I knew silence. I craved it every day of my life. Silence was stillness. Silence was peace.
This was different.
This was darker.
A bottomless pit where there should have been a soul.
The more I tried to press into it, the more it pressed back, shoving me to the edges of my own gift until pain flared behind my eyes.
I staggered slightly, clutching a nearby shelf for balance.
His smile widened. He looked down at me the way a cat watches a mouse struggle in its trap.
"Interesting," he murmured.
My heart pounded so hard I thought it might crack my ribs. "What are you?" The words slipped out before I could stop them.
His brows lifted, amusement flickering across his face. "Straight to the point. I like that."
"I'm serious." My voice trembled despite my effort to steady it. "People aren't… like this. Not to me."
"People." He chuckled, low and dark, the sound vibrating in the air between us. "Who said I was people?"
My stomach dropped.
The storm outside seemed to rage louder at his words, thunder cracking like a warning.
Lightning slashed across the window, illuminating his face for a fraction of a second. And in that fleeting flash, I saw it.
His eyes.
They glowed faintly, red, unnatural, like embers smoldering in the dark.
Then the light faded, leaving his gaze perfectly normal again. But I knew what I'd seen.
I stumbled back a step, my pulse roaring in my ears. "You"
"Yes?" He took a step forward, closing the distance I had tried to create.
I backed into the shelf behind me. Hardcovers and paperbacks dug into my spine, a cage of words at my back.
His hand lifted not to touch me, but to rest against the shelf beside my head. Trapping me.
He leaned in, so close that the brush of his breath ghosted against my cheek.
"Careful, little dove," he whispered, his voice a blade wrapped in silk. "Curiosity can be… dangerous."
I couldn't breathe.
My gift clawed at me, frantic, desperate to pierce the darkness inside him. But every attempt was met with a crushing weight, a suffocating pressure that made my temples throb.
It was like drowning. Like being dragged into an ocean with no surface, no light, no escape.
I ripped myself free with a gasp, stumbling forward. My hands trembled, slick with sweat.
The darkness retreated instantly, leaving me hollow and shaking.
He didn't move. Didn't chase me.
He only watched, his expression sharpened by fascination, his head tilted as though cataloguing every flicker of fear that danced across my face.
"You're not used to losing control, are you?" His words were calm, casual, but they cut deep.
I glared at him, though my voice shook. "Stay out of my way."
That earned me another chuckle, deep and rich. The sound curled around me like smoke, clinging, suffocating.
He didn't move aside.
Instead, he leaned closer, closing the last inch of space until his lips hovered just a breath away from my ear.
"Little dove," he murmured, velvet and venom entwined, "if you stare at me too long, you might fall."
My knees nearly buckled.
Something primal stirred inside me, fear, yes, but also something else. Something warmer. Wilder. Dangerous.
I hated it.
I hated that he made me feel anything other than dread.
With a burst of desperation, I shoved past him.
The bell above the bookstore door clanged violently as I slammed it open and stumbled outside.
The storm greeted me instantly, cold rain pelting my skin, soaking me to the bone. But I welcomed the sting, the icy shock that cleared the haze in my mind.
The air was sharp with ozone, the pavement slick beneath my boots. Lightning tore the sky apart. Thunder roared.
For one heartbeat, I thought I'd escaped. That I'd left him behind in the dusty quiet of that forgotten shop.
But instinct, raw, unshakable, told me I hadn't.
Slowly, against every warning in my body, I glanced back.
Through the rain-streaked window, lightning flashing in violent bursts.
He was still there.
Standing in the shadows. Watching me.
And he was smiling.
I had spent my whole life running from the noise of other people's minds.
But now, for the first time, I was running from the silence.
And deep down, I knew I would never escape it.