The city was an endless maze of neon signs and flickering streetlights, stretching shadows across damp pavement. Livvy clutched Angelina close, adjusting the baby’s weight against her chest. Her arms ached, her feet throbbed, but stopping wasn’t an option. Not yet. Not until she was far enough that Stanley wouldn’t find her.
The payphone had been rusted, smelling like old cigarettes and rain. She had dug out a handful of coins, pressing each one into the slot with shaking fingers. The dial tone had been her only companion, an aching reminder of how alone she was.
Pick up, Michael. Please, pick up.
Straight to voicemail. She tried again. Then again.
By the fifth attempt, her breaths had turned shaky, the edges of her vision blurring with exhaustion. The last time she had seen Michael was at the wedding—his expression tight, helpless as he watched her slip into Stanley’s grasp. He had sat stiff in the front row, his fists clenched in his lap, but he hadn’t done anything. Because he couldn’t. Because their parents had made sure of that.
She had waited for him to come after her.
A month passed. Then six. Then a year.
Now, she wasn’t sure if he had even tried.
A cold gust of wind cut through the fabric of her coat, pressing her deeper into the city’s underbelly. The good streets had long since disappeared, replaced by flickering signs and dead-end alleys. She tightened her grip on Angelina and forced herself to keep moving.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
The voice slid through the air like a dull blade.
Livvy stiffened.
A man leaned against the entrance of a closed bar, his eyes slow and deliberate as they dragged over her. Another one stood beside him, tapping a cigarette against his palm, his smirk widening.
She didn’t answer, instead, she just walked faster. But she heard footsteps followed.
“You lost?”
The first man pushed off the wall, stepping into her path. Her pulse skipped. She took a step back, but there was nowhere to go.
“How much? For one night?”
Her stomach twisted.
“I’m not—”
He reached for her wrist, the sharp stench of alcohol hitting her instantly. He reeked. Angelina started to cry, and Livvy’s mind spun into panic.
Livvy yanked her arm away, stumbling, but her body felt slow, heavy with exhaustion. The alley stretched behind her—too dark, too empty. Angelina whimpered, sensing her fear.
And then—there was a voice, too deep, too familiar, cut through the air like a blade.
"Little angel?"
Her heart stopped.
The men froze. Livvy’s breath caught, the air suddenly too thick to swallow.
From the shadows, Storm emerged, his expression unreadable, his presence a slow, suffocating threat. He didn’t need to say a word. The two men retreated, disappearing into the dark without so much as a glance back.
She remained frozen, her heart hammering against her ribs. Storm had never been her savior. They’d always said he was trouble. That all he brought was trouble.
And now, here he was—her reluctant hero.