The Safe House
They took refuge in an abandoned clock tower near the Financial District—a skeletal structure of rusted iron and shattered glass, high enough that only the most dedicated predators would bother looking. It was Ezzy's private sanctuary for when the city's auras became too much; a place she knew the shadow-shard couldn't easily track.
Ezzy leaned against the cold iron of the bell frame, clutching the wound in her soul where his essence resided. The forced kiss and the burst of raw, dark power at the gala had left her drained, yet vibrating with an addictive energy.
"The Collector will be back on our trail by dawn," Caspian stated, his voice devoid of fatigue, even after the exertion. He moved around the tiny space with an unsettling stillness, his dark presence absorbing the faint light filtering from the city below.
"We bought time," Ezzy insisted, pulling a thermal blanket from her pack. "He thinks we're fleeing in a fiery lover's quarrel. He thinks we're unstable, which is exactly what a true predator wants—easy pickings."
"We are unstable," Caspian countered, his glacial eyes sweeping over her. "You risked a total psychic burnout to blind him for a mere three seconds. Why the theatrics with the glass, Ezzy? It wasn't necessary for the escape."
"It was necessary for The Watcher," she said, pulling out her phone. The screen was a blinding cascade of social media mentions. The gala scene was already breaking the internet.
Ezzy scrolled to the latest update on The Heart-Eater's Echo. The chapter was already up, titled, "The Devouring Kiss: A Public Breakup."
The author had described their dramatic confrontation with breathtaking, terrifying accuracy—down to the sound of the glass shattering and the look of cold, desperate desire in Caspian's eyes. But the author, The Watcher, had interpreted the scene through the lens of pure, tragic romance: The Thief, incapable of feeling, finally broke under the weight of her vibrant light, only to pull away and shatter her world with a kiss.
"Look at this," Ezzy shoved the phone toward him again, pointing to the comment section. "The fans are going crazy. They're analyzing the subtext of the shattered glass. The Watcher gave them exactly what they needed for the next chapter."
Caspian took the phone, his long fingers carefully avoiding the screen. He read the highly emotional, viral prose, his lips curving into a cynical, thin line.
"This human obsession with tragedy is as baffling as it is useful," he murmured. "The Collector is looking for a weakened Rival, a shadow leaking power. He is not looking for the star-crossed lovers of a human serial novel."
He stepped closer, and Ezzy held her breath. The power of the shadow-shard was almost unbearable in the enclosed space. She could feel his focus—sharp, ancient, and calculating—drilling into her.
"But the romance is a lie, Anomaly," he whispered, his voice dangerously low. "And lies are volatile. The Watcher is not guessing; they are feeding. They are tapping into the residue of the emotional energy we create. This means every time we amplify the drama for their book, we feed The Watcher more power and give them greater insight into our actions."
Ezzy stepped back, the truth of his statement a sudden, icy weight in her gut. She had been so focused on using the novel for misdirection that she hadn't considered the author as a potential, unknown Rival—a psychic parasite hiding in plain sight.
"So every time we kiss, every time we fight, we're not just performing," she said, realization dawning. "We're creating raw emotional energy that's being stolen and published."
Caspian took another step, trapping her against the rough iron bell-frame. He didn't touch her, but the sheer force of his presence was an overwhelming current.
"The only way to win this game is to make the performance so convincing, so real, that The Collector is distracted long enough for me to gather the ingredients necessary to extract the shard," Caspian said. "That extraction is the only thing that will kill the connection and silence The Watcher's source."
He tilted his head, his eyes burning into hers, the cold hunger now mixed with a calculating intensity that was more dangerous than any rage.
"But until then, Ezzy, we must create genuine drama. And the most genuine drama requires genuine emotion. We need to be the lovers they think we are. You will teach me the color of that desperate, burning red love, and I will give you the shadow to fuel it."
He lifted his hand, and this time, he deliberately placed his icy fingers against the warm, pulsating skin of her neck, right over her frantic pulse. The shadow-shard thrummed deep inside her, merging their energies in a silent, absolute command.
"The next chapter," he announced, a promise and a threat rolled into one, "will be about the forced intimacy of the hideout. We make them believe the lie."
The most dangerous game of urban love required real emotion to feed the fake narrative. Trapped in the clock tower with the Aura Thief, Ezzy knew the next scene might be the one that actually broke her heart.