Leo stood in front of his hallway mirror, staring at his reflection with a look of profound, clinical confusion. He was wearing his charcoal suit—the one that usually made him look like a shadow in a boardroom—but tied around his neck was a strip of fabric so bright it felt like it was emitting its own radiation.
It was electric, "highlighter" yellow.
"Tactical disadvantage," Leo muttered, tugging at the silk. "I am a literal target."
His phone buzzed.
Dynamite 🥐: I can feel you scowling at the tie from here, Lion! Stop it! You look like a very handsome emergency exit sign! I am outside. Come down before I start honking the horn to the beat of 'Baby Shark'! 🦈✨
Leo's eyes widened. He grabbed his keys and moved. He knew her well enough now to know that wasn't a threat—it was a promise.
When Leo stepped onto the sidewalk, he didn't see the Chevelle. He saw a battered, bright red hatchback that looked like it was held together by prayer and stickers. Ayiesha was leaning out of the window, wearing a dress made entirely of silver sequins and a pair of neon green heart-shaped glasses.
"YALLAH! LOOK AT HIM!" she shrieked, jumping out of the car. She didn't walk; she bounced toward him, her curls catching the streetlights. "You are glowing! You are a beacon of style! My Khala will see you from three blocks away and she will say, 'Ayiesha, where did you find this luminous giant?'"
"The tie is... bright," Leo said, his voice a low rumble.
"Bright? It is glorious! It says, 'I am a man of danger, but I also enjoy a good glow-stick!' Now, get in the car! We are late, and the bouncy castle has a strict 'no adults after 9 PM' rule that I fully intend to ignore!"
The drive to her cousin's house was a sensory assault. Ayiesha drove exactly how she talked—fast, loud, and with a complete disregard for the concept of "lanes." She sang along to a Lebanese pop song, using a whisk she'd brought from the bakery as a microphone.
"Leo! Sing! It is about a man who loses his heart to a girl who makes the best tabbouleh! It is very relatable!"
"I don't sing," Leo said, gripping the "oh-crap" handle of the hatchback as she took a corner on two wheels.
"Everyone sings, Leo! Even the statues sing when the wind blows through them! You just have a very deep, very grumpy barrette-tone. It would be very soulful."
The house in the suburbs was a riot of color. Blacklights had been installed in every socket, turning white shirts into glowing beacons and teeth into neon strips.
Leo entered the living room and felt the "System Error" alerts screaming in his brain. There were approximately forty people, most of them under the age of twenty-five, all dressed like they'd been dipped in highlighter fluid. The air smelled of cheap cologne, hairspray, and fried kibbeh.
"AYIESHA! YOU BROUGHT THE LION!"
A swarm of relatives descended. Leo found himself surrounded by aunties who pinched his cheeks ("So much muscle! Does he eat enough? Ayiesha, feed this man!") and cousins who wanted to know if he was a professional wrestler.
Ayiesha was in her element. She was a silver-sequined whirlwind, moving from group to group, yapping at a mile a minute, shoving plates of food into Leo's hands.
"Eat! This is sfeeha! My Aunt Fatimah made it—she says if you don't eat at least six, you are insulting her ancestors, and she has many ancestors, Leo. Very vengeful ones!"
Leo stood in the corner, a plate of meat pies in one hand and a neon-blue soda in the other. He felt like a tank parked in a flower shop. But then, he looked at Ayiesha.
She was in the center of the room, teaching a group of teenagers how to do a traditional dabke dance, but she was doing it with so much extra "Ayiesha energy" that she eventually tripped over her own sequins and fell into a beanbag chair, laughing so hard she couldn't breathe.
Leo felt a strange, warm pressure in his chest. It was a malfunction. A massive, irreversible break in his cold logic. He didn't want to be at Pier 19. He didn't want to be in Vane's office. He wanted to be right here, watching this girl turn a Tuesday night into a festival.
"Leo! Come here!"
She scrambled out of the beanbag and grabbed his hand. Her palm was warm, flour-dusted even now, and her eyes were bright with joy. She pulled him toward the backyard.
"The moment of truth, Lion. The Bouncy Castle of Destiny."
It was a giant, neon-purple inflatable dragon.
"No," Leo said, his voice flat.
"Yes! It is my cousin's birthday wish! And she is six! You cannot deny a six-year-old, Leo. It is against the Geneva Convention!"
Leo looked at the six-year-old cousin, who was currently staring up at him with wide, hopeful eyes. He looked back at Ayiesha, who was already kicking off her silver heels.
"Fine," Leo rasped.
He removed his charcoal overcoat. He loosened the neon tie. He stepped onto the inflated vinyl.
The physics were a nightmare. For a man who relied on solid ground and perfect balance, the bouncy castle was a chaotic void. Every time he moved, the entire dragon groaned under his weight.
Ayiesha was already jumping, her sequins shimmering like a disco ball. "Look at you! You are like a giant on a cloud! Jump, Leo! Break the gravity! Forget the statues!"
Leo took a tentative hop. The world wobbled. He took another.
And then, it happened. Ayiesha jumped too close to him, lost her balance, and plummeted toward the vinyl. Leo reached out—his "Enforcer" reflexes kicking in—and caught her mid-air.
They tumbled together, landing in a heap of silver sequins and charcoal wool in the corner of the dragon's tail.
The world was soft. The air was filled with the sound of her laughter and the distant thud of the party music. Leo was pinned under her, his large hands resting on her waist to steady her.
Ayiesha stopped laughing. She looked down at him, her neon green glasses slipping down her nose. Her face was inches from his. He could see the faint dusting of sugar on her lips. He could smell the orange blossom.
"You're not a statue, Leo," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the wind. "Statues don't have hearts that beat this fast."
Leo didn't pull away. He didn't check his surroundings. For the first time in thirteen years, the "Machine" was completely silent. There was only the girl, the neon light, and the strange, terrifying realization that he would burn the entire city to the ground just to keep her laughing.
"Ayiesha," he began, his voice a low, broken sound.
"I know, Lion," she said, her smile returning, but this time it was soft, private. "I know."
An hour later, Leo walked Ayiesha back to her red hatchback. She was exhausted, her curls a wild mess, a neon glow-stick wrapped around her wrist like a bracelet.
"Best. Tuesday. Ever," she yawned, leaning against the car. "Admit it, Leo. You enjoyed the dragon."
"The dragon was... acceptable," Leo said, actually allowing a tiny, microscopic smirk to touch his lips.
"Ha! I'll take it! See you tomorrow, Asad. Don't dream of work. Dream of neon."
Suddenly, she stood on her tiptoes. She grabbed the lapels of his charcoal coat—the coat that usually smelled of cold rain and intimidation—and pulled him down.
She kissed him on the cheek.
It wasn't a slow, cinematic moment. It was a quick, fluttering touch, smelling of orange blossom and powdered sugar, but to Leo, it felt like a high-voltage wire had been snapped against his skin.
Leo froze. His heart didn't just beat; it hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. Every "Enforcer" instinct he possessed—the ones that told him to scan for threats, to maintain distance, to keep his guard up—simply evaporated. For the first time in thirteen years, the "Machine" didn't just malfunction; it went completely offline.
He felt the spot on his cheek where her lips had touched. It felt hot, like a brand, a splash of impossible color on his grey skin. He realized he was holding his breath. He realized his hands, which could dismantle a firearm in six seconds, were trembling.
He wanted to reach out. He wanted to pull her back. He wanted to say something—anything—but his throat felt like it was filled with dry cement.
"Leo?" she whispered, her eyes dancing with mischief. "You look like you just saw a ghost. Or a very attractive baker."
"I..." Leo rasped. His voice sounded like it belonged to someone else. "Goodnight, Ayiesha."
She laughed, that bright, bubbly sound that was now his favorite noise in the world, and hopped into her car. Leo stood on the sidewalk, as stiff as a statue, watching her taillights vanish into the Oakhaven mist.
He didn't move for three minutes. He just stood there, the neon yellow tie still glowing around his neck, feeling the ghost of her touch.
I'm in trouble, he thought. It wasn't a fear of Vane. It wasn't a fear of the street. It was a terrifying, beautiful realization that he was no longer a ghost. He was alive. And being alive meant he could be hurt.
He turned to walk toward the Chevelle, his mind still reeling. But as he reached his car, the cold reality of his world came crashing back.
As he reached his car, his "Enforcer" instincts snapped back into place. He didn't look around, but he felt it. The prickle on the back of his neck. The feeling of being watched.
He looked at the side mirror of the Chevelle. A block away, a black sedan with tinted windows was idling, its lights off. It was a pro job. A tail.
Vane's tail.
Leo didn't move. He didn't reach for his weapon. He just stood there in the cold Oakhaven rain, his neon tie still glowing in the dark, a splash of impossible color in a grey world.
He knew the rules. He knew that by letting the light in, he had invited the darkness to follow.
He climbed into the car and started the engine. The "Machine" was back online, but it was different now. It had a purpose. It had something to protect.
And as the black sedan began to follow him, Leo gripped the steering wheel so hard the leather groaned.
"Touch her," Leo whispered to the empty car, his eyes turning into two chips of cold, dark ice. "And I'll show you what a real monster looks like."