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Chapter Seven: Firelight.
The streets were alive, glowing and buzzing in ways that made Maya's chest ache. Neon signs flickered in orange and violet, painting the wet asphalt in streaks of color. Steam rose from the manhole covers, curling like ghostly fingers, carrying the smell of rain-damp concrete and fried food. The city had a pulse tonight, and it matched hers.
Rhea led the way, shoulders relaxed, head held high, sneakers tapping confidently against puddles. "You're quiet tonight," she said, glancing back. Her grin was sharp but soft at the edges. "I like it. Makes me think you're plotting something dangerous."
Maya shuffled along behind her, arms wrapped around herself. "I'm not plotting anything," she muttered, though her mind spun faster than her feet could keep up. She tried to breathe evenly, but the scent of wet asphalt mixed with Rhea's citrus perfume made her dizzy.
"You are," Rhea said, voice teasing. "And if you're not, you should be. You're in my city now. You don't get to just wander around like a lost ghost."
They turned down a narrow alley, the walls covered in graffiti—swirls of color, fragmented words, faces half-painted on the bricks. Maya felt like she had stepped into another world. The alley smelled of fried dough and gasoline, of wet stone, of something metallic she couldn't place. Every sense was alive, tingling, threatening to overwhelm her.
Rhea paused at the end of the alley, pushing open a heavy metal door. Music spilled out like a wave—deep bass, sharp snares, the hum of a crowd. Maya's stomach fluttered, half with anticipation, half with panic. She had never been anywhere like this.
"You're gonna love it," Rhea shouted over the music, grabbing Maya's hand and tugging her inside. The crowd pressed around them, bodies swaying, hands waving, voices rising and falling like the tide. The heat was immediate, the sweat, the smell, the chaotic music hitting her chest like a drum. Maya felt herself shrinking, shrinking until Rhea squeezed her hand, a tether to reality.
"Trust me," Rhea said, her voice brushing Maya's ear. "Just follow me."
And Maya did.
They wove through the throng, Rhea guiding her with practiced ease, the crowd forming a tunnel around them, moving, breathing, alive. Maya's head spun from the lights, the smell of perfume and smoke and sweat, the vibrations under her feet. She clutched Rhea's hand tighter, afraid she would vanish if she let go.
They found a quieter corner near a cracked window, the neon outside spilling across their faces. Rhea leaned against the wall, smirk teasing her lips. "There. You're surviving. Not bad."
Maya let out a shaky laugh. "I'm not sure I am surviving."
"You are," Rhea said, nudging her shoulder gently. "You just don't know it yet."
Maya looked up at her, heart hammering. The warmth of Rhea's touch lingered on her skin, grounding and igniting all at once. She swallowed hard, aware of every breath, every sound—the clink of glasses, the muffled bass, the scrape of sneakers against the floor. The world felt impossibly big and impossibly small at the same time.
"You're holding back," Rhea said, eyes locking onto hers.
"I—I don't know how," Maya admitted, voice barely audible over the music.
"Then try," Rhea whispered. It wasn't a dare; it was an invitation. The kind that sent butterflies into the stomach and warmth into the chest.
Maya's hands trembled. She wanted to step back, to disappear, to retreat to the comfort of her sketchbook, her rooftop, her invisible life. But she didn't. She leaned in slightly, drawn forward by the gravity of Rhea's presence.
They stood close, shoulder to shoulder, their hands brushing as they moved slightly to the rhythm of the music. Every touch sparked a current through Maya's veins. The lights painted shifting shadows on their faces, and Maya found herself studying Rhea—the curve of her jaw, the way her hair caught the neon light, the mischief in her amber eyes.
Ezra was in her mind—his presence lingering like smoke she couldn't shake. She imagined his dark sweater, his smirk, the way he measured her like she was something fragile he wanted to control. But here, surrounded by the heat and chaos of the city, his shadow felt distant. Not gone, just muted.
Rhea leaned closer, laughter spilling from her lips, brushing Maya's hair with one finger. "See? You're alive. You just forgot it for a second."
Maya's heart skipped. "I… I didn't forget," she said, voice small. "I just…" She trailed off, words swallowed by the music, by the electricity of the night, by the closeness of Rhea.
"By the night," Rhea finished for her, grinning, warm and teasing. She tilted her head, letting their foreheads almost touch. "By me," she added softly.
Maya's breath caught. Her pulse roared. The world had narrowed to the space between them, neon and firelight casting flickering shadows across their faces.
For the first time, she let herself feel it—the thrill, the terror, the pull. Every instinct told her to retreat, to protect herself, to hide. But something told her to stay. Something told her that this—this mess, this chaos, this spark—was worth the risk.
And she stayed.
They laughed, stumbled, leaned into each other, letting the city pulse around them. For a moment, the world was nothing but firelight, Rhea's warmth, and the dizzying thrill of being seen.
Maya realized, in a heartbeat that both scared and thrilled her, that she was falling—not just for the night, not just for the excitement—but for Rhea.
And maybe, somewhere in the shadows, Ezra's eyes were still watching.