The sound cracked across the alley like a gunshot, the first strike tearing the night apart. For a split second, time seemed to stop—Marcus's fist cutting through the cold air, Ethan's head jerking back, Sophie's breath caught in her lungs. Then the world lurched forward again, violent and unrelenting.
Ethan staggered a step, his grin splitting wider even with blood streaking his mouth. He wiped it with the back of his hand, eyes glittering with the kind of hunger that didn't care about pain.
"Well," he said softly, almost reverent. "There you are."
Marcus didn't answer. His shoulders were coiled, chest heaving, fists clenched so hard his knuckles gleamed white. Sophie could feel the pulse of his rage, the battle inside him made flesh. For once, the violence wasn't directed inward—it was outward, against the parasite that had been trying to hollow him out.
Ethan stepped forward, casual as if the blow had been a handshake. "Hit me again. See if it makes you feel whole."
Marcus lunged, and the alley became chaos. Fists, breath, the scrape of shoes on damp asphalt, the sharp thud of bone on bone. Sophie wanted to rush in, to drag Marcus away, but the fire in his eyes stopped her. This wasn't mindless brutality—this was a man clawing himself back from the abyss.
But Ethan wasn't retreating. For every punch Marcus landed, Ethan absorbed it, turned it, fed on it. He moved like water around stone, redirecting, deflecting, laughing even as his lip split and his nose crooked sideways.
"You can't win," Ethan hissed through broken teeth. "I'm not outside you. I'm inside. Every time you swing, it's me who guides your arm."
Marcus faltered for half a heartbeat, the words striking deeper than any blow. Sophie saw it—the hesitation, the fear crawling back into his veins. She shoved herself forward, shouting over the roar of fists.
"Don't listen! He's lying! Marcus—look at me!"
Her voice sliced through the alley like a blade. Marcus's gaze snapped to her, wild and frantic, but alive. She nodded once, hard. You are not him. You are not his.
Marcus roared, spun, and slammed Ethan into the brick wall with a force that shook dust loose from the mortar. Ethan laughed, blood spraying across his teeth.
"Yes," he whispered. "That's it. That's what I want. That's why you'll never let me go. You need me."
Sophie's stomach turned cold. She realized then that Ethan wasn't afraid of losing—he didn't care if Marcus killed him, so long as Marcus gave in to the darkness to do it. That was the trap.
"Stop!" she screamed, rushing forward. She grabbed Marcus's arm mid-swing, her hands burning against the tension of his muscles. His fist froze inches from Ethan's ruined face.
Ethan's smile widened into something grotesque. "See? Even she knows. You finish me, and you finish yourself."
Marcus's chest heaved, his breath rattling like a broken machine. For a moment Sophie thought he would cave—that the hunger, the temptation, would pull him under. But then he turned, eyes locked on hers.
"I'm not you," he rasped.
And he stepped back.
Ethan's expression flickered—confusion, anger, something colder. He pushed himself off the wall, spitting blood onto the ground. "Pathetic."
He lunged, but Sophie was ready. She swung her notebook like a weapon, its corner striking his temple with a crack. It wasn't enough to do damage, but it shocked him back, made him stumble.
"Stay away from him!" she shouted, voice raw with fury. "You don't get to write his story. Not anymore."
Ethan straightened, wiping blood with deliberate slowness. His eyes burned into hers, sharp and venomous. "Oh, Sophie. You think you're saving him? You're just binding him tighter. Every time you whisper his name, every time you clutch his hand, you tie him to me. Because I live in the spaces you can't touch. And when he breaks again—and he will—it'll be my voice he hears, not yours."
Sophie's knees trembled, but she didn't move. "Then I'll keep speaking until you choke on silence."
Ethan's grin faltered, just slightly, and that was enough. He took a step back, then another, melting into the dark the way shadows retreat from the dawn. His final words drifted like smoke.
"This isn't over. You'll wish it was."
Silence slammed down on the alley. Sophie sagged against the wall, her chest hitching, her hands shaking so violently she nearly dropped her notebook. Marcus slid to the ground beside her, blood streaking his face, his breath coming in ragged pulls.
For a long time, neither spoke. The night buzzed with the echo of what had almost happened.
Finally, Marcus whispered, "I almost did it. I almost became him."
Sophie grabbed his hand, pressing it hard against her chest. "But you didn't. You're still here. With me."
His eyes shone in the dim light, haunted but alive. "I don't know how much longer I can fight."
"Then I'll fight for you," she said fiercely. "As long as it takes."
The first hints of dawn crept over the rooftops, painting the alley in pale light. They sat together, bruised and broken, but side by side. And for the first time, Sophie dared to believe that maybe—just maybe—they could outlast the darkness.
But she also knew Ethan was right about one thing: this wasn't over. Not even close.
The sky was gray by the time they left the alley, a dull, washed-out canvas that made everything look sickly. Sophie kept her hand locked around Marcus's, terrified that if she let go he would dissolve into the morning fog. His steps were uneven, dragging with exhaustion, but he didn't complain. He let her lead him through the empty streets, past shuttered shops and silent homes, until they reached the edge of town.
They sat on a rusted swing set behind an abandoned park, its chains groaning with every small shift. Marcus leaned back, his hood pulled low, his knuckles raw and bloody. Sophie touched them gently, her fingers brushing over torn skin. He flinched.
"You need a hospital," she said.
"No." His voice was flat. "They'll ask questions I can't answer."
Her throat tightened. He was right—there was no explanation for the bruises, the cuts, the look in his eyes that screamed of nights no one else could understand.
"Then we clean it ourselves," Sophie said firmly. "I won't let him leave his mark on you."
Marcus tilted his head toward her, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "He already has."
Sophie shook her head. "Not in a way that matters."
The silence between them stretched, heavy with words neither dared speak. Finally, Marcus broke it. "When I hit him… it felt good. Too good. For a moment I wanted more." His eyes glistened with shame. "That scares me more than him."
Sophie's fingers curled around his wrist. "You're scared because you're still you. If you weren't, you wouldn't care."
He laughed bitterly. "What if I stop caring?"
"Then I'll remind you," she said, her voice sharp as steel. "Every damn time. I'll carve it into your bones if I have to."
Marcus stared at her for a long moment, then nodded slowly, as if anchoring himself to her promise.
They stayed in the park until the sun was high enough to burn away the fog. Sophie's phone buzzed once—an unknown number again. Her stomach turned ice. She unlocked it with trembling fingers.
A photo filled the screen. Ethan, standing in the alley they had just left, blood dried on his face, smiling as if nothing had touched him. Beneath the photo, three words: See you soon.
Sophie's grip on the phone tightened until her knuckles whitened. "He's taunting us."
Marcus didn't even look. "He always does."
But Sophie saw it—the way his hands shook, the way his jaw clenched. Ethan wasn't just taunting them. He was reminding Marcus of the bond he still claimed, the tether that refused to snap.
That evening, Sophie snuck Marcus into her room. She cleaned his wounds with trembling hands, dabbing peroxide over torn knuckles, taping the gash above his eyebrow. He winced but didn't pull away. When she finished, he caught her hand and held it against his chest. His heartbeat was wild, frantic.
"I don't deserve this," he whispered.
Sophie met his eyes, fierce and unyielding. "You don't get to decide that. I do."
For the first time in days, his lips curved into something soft, something real. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers. For a heartbeat, the world was quiet.
But then the quiet cracked.
Her window rattled. The curtain swayed. Sophie's heart lurched—too soon, too familiar. Marcus's grip on her hand tightened painfully.
A voice drifted through the glass, low and amused. "Sweet, isn't it?"
Sophie's blood froze. Ethan's shadow stretched across the windowpane, distorted by the streetlight.
Marcus shot to his feet, rage sparking in his eyes. Sophie grabbed his arm. "Don't. That's what he wants."
Ethan tapped on the glass, a mockery of politeness. "Invite me in, Sophie. Let's make this civil."
"Go to hell," she spat.
His laugh was muffled by the glass, but it slithered into her bones. "Already there. Just thought I'd bring Marcus with me when I go."
Marcus lunged toward the window, fists clenched, but Sophie held him back with everything she had. "Don't give him what he wants!"
Ethan leaned close enough that his breath fogged the glass. His eyes gleamed, sharp as knives. "Tick-tock. He's mine, Sophie. Every second you waste, he slips further."
Then the shadow vanished.
Marcus collapsed back onto the bed, his breath ragged. Sophie knelt in front of him, grabbing his face in her hands. "Don't listen. He's trying to break you."
Tears streaked his bruised cheeks. "It's working."
Sophie shook her head violently. "No. You're stronger than him."
But deep down, she wasn't sure if strength was enough anymore. Ethan wasn't just attacking from outside—he was weaving himself into Marcus's thoughts, his fears, his very identity. And Sophie didn't know how to cut him out without tearing Marcus apart.
When Marcus finally fell into a restless sleep, Sophie stayed awake, watching the shadows on her walls, waiting for Ethan to return. Her notebook lay open in her lap, words scrawled over every page: You are mine. You are mine. You are mine.
But no matter how many times she wrote it, she couldn't shake the echo of Ethan's voice in the glass: He's mine, Sophie. Every second you waste, he slips further.
As dawn bled into the room, Sophie realized something chilling.
This wasn't a battle they could win by fists or willpower alone. Ethan wasn't going to stop until Marcus belonged to him completely.
And if Sophie wanted to save him, she would have to walk into the dark herself.