CHAPTER 6 — THE DARKNESS UNDER THE Street lamps
Rain had not been forecast that night, but the sky above Crescent Lane bruised itself into a swollen purple, and the first drops began to fall just as Aurora stepped out of her apartment building. The air felt heavy, thick with something she couldn't name. It had been days since the incident inside the abandoned building—days since that haunting voice had whispered her name in the dark, followed by the cold touch crawling down her spine.
She hadn't told anyone. Not Seraphina, not Xander, and certainly not Mrs. Dele.
Some truths had to sit in the chest first, pressing, squeezing, suffocating, before a person found the courage to let them out.
Aurora pulled her coat tighter and walked beneath the dim streetlamps, their yellow glow flickering like nervous heartbeats. The world felt strangely muted tonight, as if something had pressed a finger to its lips, demanding silence.
Her phone vibrated.
XANDER: Where are you? You haven't replied to my last messages.
She didn't answer.
Not because she didn't want to—but because she didn't know how.
Xander had been acting differently since the night he found her trembling outside that building. He'd looked at her as if he'd seen a ghost clinging to her shoulders. But he hadn't asked questions; he'd simply watched her, guarded, as though waiting for her to break.
Aurora wasn't sure whether she was grateful or terrified.
She crossed the street, the rain now falling harder, making the asphalt shimmer like a black mirror. For a moment, she stopped beneath a streetlamp, breathing in and out slowly, trying to steady herself. But then—
A shape moved.
Not a person.
Not an animal.
More like… a shadow with intention.
It glided at the edge of her vision near the alley that separated the old tailor shop from a bakery long abandoned. Aurora's heart kicked against her ribs.
"No," she whispered. "Not again."
She shut her eyes, praying it was nothing. But when she opened them, she saw it clearly—a tall, distorted silhouette standing in the far corner of the alley, motionless but unmistakably watching her.
Her throat dried.
She took a single step backward.
The shadow moved.
Just a tilt of its head—slow, deliberate, unnatural—like a creature studying its prey.
Aurora's breath shattered into tiny gasps.
Her pulse hammered so loud she couldn't hear the rain anymore, only the frantic beat of her own terror.
She stepped back again.
The shadow followed.
She turned and ran.
Her shoes slapped against the pavement, splashing through puddles as the rain intensified into an angry downpour. She didn't dare look back. She didn't need to. She could feel it—like cold fingers reaching for her spine, like breath crawling across the back of her neck.
She sprinted toward the main road, illuminated by brighter lights and passing cars. Her lungs burned, her legs throbbed, but she kept running until she burst into the open street and collided with something solid.
Arms wrapped around her.
She twisted, panicked, struggling, until she heard the voice.
"Aurora! Hey—hey! Look at me!"
Xander.
He held her by the shoulders, rain dripping from his hair and clothes as he steadied her.
"You're shaking," he said, eyes searching her face. "What happened?"
Aurora couldn't answer. Her teeth chattered, her breath stuttered, and her eyes kept flicking over Xander's shoulder toward the alley she'd fled from.
"Was someone following you?" he asked, voice tight.
She didn't nod. She didn't shake her head. She simply stared, trembling, as if her body was no longer connected to her mind.
Xander pulled her closer, guiding her toward the shelter of a closed café's awning. The rain pounded onto the sidewalk like thousands of tiny fists, but here, beneath the small covering, the world felt slightly less threatening.
"Aurora," he said softly, tilting her chin up so she'd meet his eyes. "Talk to me."
She tried.
She opened her mouth.
But her voice came out barely above a whisper.
"I… saw something."
"What did you see?"
"I don't know," she said, trembling harder. "A shadow. Watching me."
Xander's jaw tightened.
"You're coming with me," he said, his tone brooking no argument. "You're not staying alone tonight."
Aurora wanted to protest—she didn't want to seem weak, or fragile, or like someone who needed saving. But when she glanced back toward the alley, she thought she saw movement again.
Her knees nearly buckled.
Xander noticed.
He wrapped an arm around her waist, supporting her as he guided her down the street. His touch was steady, warm, grounding. Something she desperately needed.
---
By the time they reached his apartment, Aurora's clothes were soaked through, her hair plastered to her face. Xander let her step inside first, flipping on the lights. His apartment smelled faintly of cedar and citrus, familiar and calming.
He grabbed a towel and gently placed it over her shoulders.
"You're safe here," he said.
She swallowed hard, nodding, though she wasn't sure she believed it.
Not anymore.
Xander knelt in front of her, lifting her chin again so he could study her expression.
"That look in your eyes… I've seen it before," he said quietly.
Aurora frowned. "Where?"
"In my mirror."
Her breath stilled.
Xander leaned back on his heels, eyes distant. "You're not the only one who's seen things that don't make sense."
Aurora blinked, startled. "What do you mean?"
He hesitated, as though choosing his words carefully.
"There are things in this city," he said slowly, "that aren't supposed to exist. And some of us… can see more than others."
Aurora's blood chilled.
His words felt too familiar—too close to the strange system notifications she'd been hearing, the whispers, the shadows.
"Xander," she whispered, "what exactly have you seen?"
He opened his mouth to answer.
But before he could speak, the lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then the room plunged into darkness.
Aurora froze.
Xander stood instantly, placing himself between her and the rest of the apartment.
"Aurora," he said softly, "stay behind me."
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears.
A faint sound drifted from the hallway.
A whisper.
Low.
Slithering.
Her name.
Auroraaaa…
The same voice from the abandoned building.
Her scream died in her throat as every light in the apartment suddenly flashed back on—bright, almost blinding.
The whisper vanished.
But something else remained.
On the floor, near the door, a wet footprint appeared.
Then another.
Then another.
Leading inside the apartment.
Aurora clutched Xander's arm so tightly her nails dug into his skin.
He didn't move.
He didn't breathe.
And for the first time, Aurora realized—
Xander wasn't surprised.
Not even a little.
---
END OF CHAPTER 6